


Darach's Baby

by OneSmartChicken



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, BAMF!Stiles, F/M, Girl!Stiles, I do what I want, I don't know how to tag this, I repeat no cheating, I'm sorry I'm so terrible at tags, Kid!Fic, Magic!Stiles, Murder and Mayhem, Not Season 3 Compliant, Other, Pregnancy, Pregnant Stiles, The Alpha Pack, The Darach - Freeform, WARNING: RIDICULOUSLY SLOW UPDATES, a lot of badassery, a lot of magic, at all, but not really until the second chapter honestly, i lied in the original tags oops this got out of control, ignoring canon because I can, omg somebody help me tag before I hurt myself ah, sort of, stiles is 16ish, surprise fluffiness, the chicken way, this was a drabble but it got so out of hand omg, thus making it technically underage?, violence is only graphic-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneSmartChicken/pseuds/OneSmartChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Derek and Stiles have a stress-relieving bout of sex and a lot of misunderstandings, Stiles hides her pregnancy for a while as she becomes something of a badass. Turns out, Stiles is a natural.<br/>Also? Stiles is so done with everyone's shit.</p><p> </p><p><s>The second chapter is unadulterated fluff.</s><br/>As of Chapter 2: A loosely month-by-month fic about how Stiles and the pack deal with her pregnancy, with bonus chapter titles for my own amusement.</p><p>Mostly the pack stresses a lot and Stiles teaches them the meaning of the term BAMF.</p><p>Also there's a witch doctor, a sorceress, a magical alpaca, and Stiles is so done. But her magic's awesome so that's a plus or something. And there's sort of a disgusting amount of fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One: The Start

**Author's Note:**

  * For [10millionfireflies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/10millionfireflies/gifts).



> I stopped watching the show after about halfway through season 2, because I have an unhealthy attachment to Erica and Boyd and refused to watch it when I found out they died. I do what I want.  
> So most of this info is from other fics, tumblr, or the wiki. I read the wiki page on the darach. And giggled for like twenty minutes because _I made a pun._ There's no Nemeton or whatever, the alpha pack is significantly less badass than our pack, Derek stays the alpha, and I didn't include Cora or the twins because I am lazy.  
>  Literally the only reason Stiles is a girl in this is because I don't write mpreg. Also it was mentioned in the prompt. Which is in the end notes.
> 
>  
> 
> I DON'T WANNA TALK ABOUT HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO WRITE THIS. I thought it would be just a couple thousand words, just a few days. Including what I have of chapter two typed up though it's already at like 18k. Ohgod.  
> Uh, clearly there will be a chapter two. This doesn't really cliffhanger though, so...You can kind of read it as a standalone. Kinda. I dunno how long it'll take me to finish chapter two, I'm kind of spending a lot of time vomitting rainbows at it.  
>  **AS OF APRIL 25TH THIS HAS NO SET AMOUNT OF CHAPTERS.** Or set update days because I'm terrible and unpredictable sorry not sorry
> 
>  
> 
> ... _Darach's Baby was never meant to be the actual title it was just a joke I got attached somebody help me_

So maybe it was stupid. No, definitely it was stupid. But Erica and Boyd were still missing, and sex was great stress relief according to the internet, and Derek _really_ needed some stress relief. As did Stiles, for that matter. So when she knew everyone else would be far away, she walked into Derek's apartment, looked him square in the eye, and pulled off her shirt.

"Stiles, what are you doing," he ground out.

"Stripping," she readily answered, peeling out of her jeans. She didn't try anything fancy, knew she would just humiliate herself and probably break something if she tried to be _"sexy"_. But she had bought a cute matching bra and panties set just for the occasion and they actually looked pretty good on her, the red lace a pretty nice contrast against her pale complexion. It gave her a boost of confidence, that knowledge that she looked _good_ , as tremulous a knowledge a that was.

After everything that had happened, after all the shit that had gone down and was still going down, it was surprisingly easy to throw all her worries out the window and stroll past Derek in her lacy underwear.

"I'm going to climb into your bed naked and touch myself. Feel free to join me," she told him with a level of bravery that shocked even her. She didn't even make it up the stairs before Derek was on her, hands on her hips and teeth against her shoulder. They had sex on the floor, then against a wall, and finally made it to the bed where they fucked until they were both finally exhausted. Afterwards, they didn't cuddle so much as pass out in the general vicinity of one another, limbs vaguely tangled together and sweat mingling everywhere.

She had no idea how the morning _might_ have gone, but she knew how it did go; her cell blaring at five AM and her dad yelling because apparently they'd found the body of some girl who looked an awful lot like her. Which, wow, poor girl, cursed to look like Stiles and then die horribly. And then Scott was banging on the door to the loft and Derek was dragging on pants, heading down to meet him. She put her underwear back on and wrapped herself in the sheet before following him down, grimacing over her desperate need for a shower. Really, really desperate need. Scott squawked and she tuned him out while she collected her clothes. She tried really hard to hear whatever Scott was snarling very softly to Derek, though, to no avail. Fucking werewolves. Then they left the loft and she told Scott it was all just stress relief, _fuck off, Scott,_ and it wasn't even a lie. She did lie to her dad though, told him she'd parked her jeep somewhere and fallen asleep. It was a fucking terrible lie, but he was too glad she was safe, too tired of all the lying, to call her on it. They hugged, and then she showered and resolved to not think about that night ever again. She failed that, on a regular basis, but she had the intention at least.

Scott only brought it up once, a week later, just a soft exchange of words without the anger he had directed towards the night previously, without even the anger he always had for Derek. She reassured him, told him not everyone needed their first time to be special, gave him the _virginity is just a word_ spiel and then they never talked about it again, not even when she took to hiding from even glimpses of leather around the corner.

The way bros do. They were good bros.

And then, as bros do, she and Scott figured it out. "Hey at least I'm not a target," she joked, snickering, because hey, no more virginity. She thought the whole thing was bullshit of course, see previously-mentioned spiel, but apparently magic was pretty ensconced in archaic beliefs and didn't care about her spiels. Scott rolled his eyes at her, still not a fan of her hookup but not as directly disapproving either. It had been nearly a month, plenty of time for him to _get over it._ She'd gotten over it.

Oh yeah. Totally over it. Definitely no moping, fretting, or otherwise obsessing here.

"You go tell Deaton, I'll tell Derek," she 'suggested', better known as commanded. Scott snorted, but ultimately accepted it. Probably thinking she and Derek needed to talk, considering they, ya'know, hadn't. In almost a month. She wasn't avoiding him any more, and she was pretty sure he wasn't avoiding her, they just...hadn't talked. Or seen each other. So they weren't avoiding each other, they just weren't actively seeking each other out, which was perfectly normal, okay. And she so didn't care. Really, she didn't. She had been busy, learning things from Deaton, doing schoolwork, figuring out not only that their killer was a darach but who it was because Stiles had _lots_ of free time and definitely wasn't avoiding anything by hyper-focusing--See? She totally didn't care. Totally.

Which was why she sped all the way to Derek's and practically flew to his door, armed with plausible reasons for being there and deniability of all sorts. She was biting back a grin, right up until the door opened and shirtless Derek's judgy eyebrows judged her, and Ms. Blake gazed innocently over his shoulder in a state of not-quite-undress. Stiles could actually feel her smile turn brittle and sharp, develop edges. Derek wasn't exactly a virgin, or defenseless, she could definitely have left him to handle himself for a few minutes, all the time necessary to get Scott and other forms of back-up. She could definitely have done that.

Her eyes zeroed in on Ms. Blake's blouse. The buttons were done up wrong.

Stiles looked at Derek again. "You have absolutely the worst fucking taste," she told him, because it was true. "Like wow, I'm concerned that I'm now on your list, because Worst Taste." Which was mean. Cruel, even. She knew it was; she never brought up Kate Argent and the secrets Gerard had let her in on while he beat the shit out of her. That was sort of a sore topic and she had made it an unspoken rule. But come on, the man's dick was like a monster-in-a-pretty-mask detector. Good thing she'd been the one to seek him out or else she'd be really worried.

Actually, considering the current buzz under her skin, maybe she should be worried. Maybe Derek's dick was actually a monster-creator, or guaranteer, because wow she could actually feel her own rising tide of violence. She was about to hurt someone, and that didn't bother her in the least. Later she would insist it was because this woman was a murderer, a monster, but privately she would always remember how she looked at Ms. Blake's smeared lipstick, at the disarray of her and Derek's clothing, at the matching stain of red on Derek's lips and neck and--yeah, she would never really know if the fact Ms. Blake was the darach actually had any influence on her rage.

At least she knew the darach part was definitely on her mind, since if she was just getting jealous over some human woman then she definitely wouldn't have reached for one of the pouches she was starting to carry around at all times. This one had just been added that morning, actually. And she took far more pleasure than she should have been comfortable with in throwing a handful of powdered mistletoe into the darach's face, smiled way too honestly as Ms. Blake screamed and melted away. She didn't notice Derek jerking away from the woman or him moving so he was partially in front of Stiles; she was too busy stalking past him and after the retreating darach.

"I have a whole arsenal in my pockets, Ms. Blake," she told the hideous creature staring at her in silent fury and something akin to fear. "Literally and figuratively. And I'm not sure what all of them will do to a darach, but I am more than willing to find out." She prepared to hurl another handful of mistletoe, but the darach let out a horrifyingly human screech before flinging herself out of the fucking window _because why the fuck not._ Stiles rushed after her, realizing belatedly that hey, they should probably not let their killer run off. But no can do; the freaky scarred nightmare that used to be Ms. Blake disappeared around the corner of the building faster than she had any right to be able to manage, possibly even faster than one of the wolves could manage. Stiles scowled, silently cursing magic, then turned to Derek. She lifted her brows, judging him. Judgmentally. Her eyebrows may not be as impressive as his, but she was pretty sure her judgment was broadcast loud and clear.

"I'm not saying you make terrible life choices, but I'm heavily implying it," she told him. Just so there were no doubts. It seemed like the sort of thing she should tell him. Then, because her priorities were figuring out the correct order again, she called up Scott and told him about the whole Ms. Blake-was-with-Derek-and-Stiles-attacked-but-she-escaped thing, minus the oh-and-Blake-and-Derek-probably-had-sex part because Stiles wasn't quite ready to face that yet.

They all gathered at Deaton's, Isaac, Peter and Lydia included, and made some shiny(see: shitty) plans that Lydia and Stiles didn't approve of but they were outvoted(of course) so off to kill the darach they went. Skipping merrily along, no doubt, armed with a fuckton of mistletoe and whatever else Deaton felt like loading them up with. Apparently he wasn't a big fan of darachs either. Anyway, they went to confront her. They found Ms. Blake in an abandoned warehouse, leaning over a sobbing boy, a knife to his throat. Everything kind of went to hell after that, for a little bit. There were two other bodies, both young, one of them familiar enough that Stiles had to look away quickly, and Ms. Blake put her powers to good, or rather, evil use. Everyone was fighting, throwing everything they had at her, and in the back of her mind, Stiles just kept thinking, _This person used to be **good**_ , and somehow that made it so much worse. Somehow that made her feel like crying.

And then Derek was dead and Stiles spent the night crying after all. She bawled into Scott's shoulder while Allison and Lydia tried to watch chickflicks and mostly they all just ate ice cream. At least Blake was officially dead, if Peter's word could be trusted. It couldn't actually, but the blood on his hands and the grin on his mouth could so yeah, dead darach.

And dead Derek. No one really knew how it happened. Except they did, _Stiles_ did. It happened because he was stupid, because he threw himself into danger without any care for his own well-being. Because he was so determined to punish himself, that he couldn't even see the people he was hurting along the way. And _god_ did it hurt. _So much._

When Scott and Allison were asleep, curled up together on the couch like sad little puppies, Lydia and Stiles sat together and just talked. A lot. Lydia got the whole Derek story out of her, even the things Stiles hadn't told Scott. There on the couch with Lydia, she found that words like _love_ didn't seem so scary, not in the middle of the night, not after a day like they'd had. Then Lydia dragged Stiles out to a convenience store, handling all the hard work while Stiles stood aside hugging herself and watching with huge, frightened eyes. Stiles peed on a stick or six in Lydia's bathroom and then they both cried some more. Lydia pet her hair and was uncomfortably nice while they went through a whole box of tissues and didn't say much at all. And then Stiles went home and got ready for school. She looked up what medications she could take while pregnant, followed up by deciding _none_ sounded best, so no adderall that day. Always fun except for how it _absolutely wasn't, at all._

Derek was finally going to have a bigger family, even if only by one little pup, and he went and died before he even knew about it.

She went to Derek's loft three days after they killed the darach, pulling out an actual lockpicking set(fuck hairpins) to jimmy it open so she could slip inside. At which point she proceeded to stare at Derek, who was casually sprawled on the piece-of-shit couch she had made Scott drag up shortly after Derek started renting. She had never really figured out why Derek didn't just throw it out, and never asked for fear of sparking a change.

"Derek," she tried, and wasn't all that surprised when it came out all high and squeaky and broken and sort of awful actually. He looked at her, seeming tired. Well wasn't that just awful for him. He was _tired._ Poor dear. "You're alive?" she asked and if anyone told you later it was actually more along the lines of a shrill screech than words--well she wouldn't argue it. She had thought he was dead. She had watched him _die._ She was totally allowed to screech.

"Stiles," Derek started, rolling to his feet. She grabbed one of the tiny balls of compressed wolf's bane in her ever-growing bag of magic tricks and threw it in his face.

"You ass!" she shouted, hands curled into fists as she resisted the urge to hurl more wolf's bane at the howling werewolf. She grabbed his wrist and stomped into the kitchen, dragging him along, probably purely because it was unexpected. Turning the tap on, she shoved his face under it, yelling at him all the while for being such an incredibly massive dick. There wasn't even anything sensible in her yelling, just increasingly creative insults thrown at increasing volume at Derek's now wet head while he scrubbed off his face and probably drowned out all of her insults with the sound of running water. Thus the increasing volume. He was a bastard and deserved to hear all of her insults, dammit.

Finally she had to stop and gasp for breath, which was coincidentally when Derek apparently decided he'd gotten most of the wolf's bane off. How convenient for him. Stiles glared mutinously. He straightened up, grabbing a hand towel(actually, it was one of those cheap-o wash cloths Home Depot sold in packs of like twenty for five bucks, but at least it wasn't paper) to wipe his face off. Relatively dry, face-wise at least, he dropped the towel on the counter and leveled a stare at her, both unamused and unrepentant. Stiles, not for the first or even tenth time in less than a week, gave serious thought to homicide of the first degree. She was pretty sure she could hide all evidence with magic and, Hell, everyone who cared already thought he was dead.

"Go home, Stiles," he said, just like that. Like she didn't even matter. Like she hadn't just screamed at him for ten minutes. Like he hadn't let her think he was _dead_ for three days. Like he didn't even have anything to apologize for.

And why should he when clearly, to him, she didn't matter. Stiles picked up a plate, one of those sturdy stonewear ones that just seemed smart of werewolves to have honestly, and chucked it at him. Since it didn't shatter on impact, either against his shoulder(she'd been aiming for his face, for the record) or the floor, maybe it wasn't such a great idea for werewolves to have them after all. Huh. Learn something new every day.

"You're a great big bag of dicks," she informed him matter-of-factually as he stared at her, words punctuated by an ominous roll of thunder. Because obviously they now needed some rain. With a patently unfriendly smile, she spun on her heel and strode out of his stupid creepy loft. She didn't go home though, only partially because _fuck literally anything that Derek Hale wanted her to do._ Instead she drove through the rain and straight to the clinic, where she knocked on the back door and waited with one foot tapping impatiently away until Deaton opened the door with a confused frown.

"I want to learn how to use magic," she told him through the rain running down her face, soaking her through. Previously, she had been learning about magic things, things like the wolf's bane and mistletoe--ingredients, basically. She hadn't really wanted to get involved in something as complicated as magic, not yet at least. They were kind of busy and Deaton said magic took crazy amounts of concentration, not exactly something she was great at, not without liberal application of adderall at least. Suddenly though, that really didn't seem like a big deal. Actually, it didn't sound like it would be a problem at all. Huh. Imagine that.

Deaton, in perhaps the wisest move she had witnessed from him yet, didn't argue. He just lead the way into his clinic, gave her a towel and some books, and went back to doing his actual job.

Conveniently, a spell for disguising scents was in the very first book she started pouring over. She didn't have all the ingredients in her pockets, but a quick perusal of Deaton's shelves provided the few she was missing. Too angry to be shy, she used Deaton's equipment without hesitation, growling out the spell as she forced herself to be careful. It was her first potion, after all. She left it to boil, as instructed, and went back to reading spells in that section of the book. If those spells happened to be specifically geared towards fighting werewolves, well, she was just working through the book in order, she could hardly be held accountable for the things she memorized.

Deaton walked in with eyebrows up, looking prepared for questions, either asked or answered. She gestured to the brew with a flippant hand wave.

"Scent scrubber," she declared, indicating the book in her hands as well, as close to an explanation as she felt like giving. Deaton let out a distressed sound and hurried over to the potion. He didn't say anything for a few minutes after that, just poked at the poultice, which smelled an awful lot like pumpkin pie for something that had no pumpkin-pie related ingredients besides nutmeg, and let her read. And probably thought deep thoughts, since it was Deaton, but she wasn't privy to them so she didn't really care.

Stiles should maybe not be allowed near weapons for a while. Too late though, since Deaton had handed over several books full of them.

"You have never made a potion before?" Deaton asked. She nodded without looking away from the book; she was trying to learn a spell that would temporarily take away a werewolf's alpha powers. "This is...remarkable, for a first potion." It sounded like an understatement. She finally looked up, just to give him a nice, solid, judgmental look.

"It's not exactly a hard spell," she informed him. "It's not even Latin."

"It is Greek," he pointed out. Stiles shrugged.

"I had a lot of free time in middle school."

Deaton nodded slowly. "It's effective," he told her, apparently deciding to leave her after-school reading habits for another time. That information finally made her perk up though; the spell and ingredients were easy enough, but she hadn't been sure she had the right amount or type of magic for it, not to mention she hadn't actually followed the instructions exactly. Namely the part where it said to focus on hiding the smell of magic from werewolf noses, instead focusing on hiding the smell of _baby._

She hopped up with a grin, ignoring how feral it must have looked, especially considering the way Deaton actually drew slightly back from her. "Awesome. Mind helping me bottle it up? Oh, and can I take this book home with me?" She waved the book in question around a bit as she made her way over to Deaton and the potion.

The vet stared at her for a few minutes, until she gave in and arched a questioning brow. Eventually she got another nod out of him, even slower than the last. "I would advise, if I may, focusing on defensive spells. Your particular...type of magic seems to be inclined more towards defense than offense."

Stiles smiled brightly. "Sure thing, Deaton," she lied without breaking eye contact, and then they bottled up her potion and she drove home. She took a sip, all the book said was necessary, while stopped at a red light.

Scott was waiting for her in the living room when she got home. He looked up, frowning and sniffing intently. "You smell like pumpkin pie," he told her, accusingly, and Stiles grinned.

"Get used to it," she instructed and jogged up the stairs. Setting the book on her desk, she carefully covered it with a delicate mess of random other papers, schoolwork mostly, then put her bag in the closet. She changed into pajamas and washed her face in the bathroom, relishing the smell of pumpkin clinging to her skin. Not too strong, not even by Scott's standards, but enough that when she stuck her nose against the pulsepoint at her wrist, she started wondering if they had any canned pumpkin in the cabinets.

Resisting the urge to check, Stiles threw herself into the couch beside Scott, saying cheerfully, "I went by Derek's. He's alive. What are we watching?" Scott stared at her. She plucked the remote from his fingers and pressed info. Apparently, they were watching Psych. Cool. With her legs drawn up to her chest, Stiles settled in for happy fun times. After a moment, Scott wrapped his arm around her, pulling her flush against his side. She burrowed willingly into him, and they were bros, so neither of them said a word when she laughed and tears came out. Scott just held her close and let her cry and laugh through four episodes of Psych. She fell asleep on his shoulder, his nose in her hair and the faint smell of freshly baked pumpkin pie wrapped cozily around them.

Derek called a pack meeting the next day, and she didn't answer any of the werewolves' questions about why she smelled like pumpkin pie. They were quickly distracted by discussions of the alpha pack anyway, since Derek apparently had new information. Oooh, aaah. Stiles was maybe a little extra sarcastic for the meeting.

They had fairly regular meetings for the next month and a half, with Stiles going to Deaton's every afternoon for lessons in magic. She swapped out her borrowed spellbook every week or so, secretly scanning every one onto her computer, and Deaton occasionally praised her defense-work, which was pretty much the Deaton-equivalent of glowing, prideful commentary.

In her free time, Stiles looked up information on pregnancy, and with only a little pressure from Lydia she saw an actual doctor and got a schedule of regular appointments. The doctor said he wouldn't force her to tell her dad, which she was grateful for, although at the same time she kind of wished someone would force her to. Just take the decision out of her hands, rip the conversation off like a band-aid.

Stiles was always someone who picked at a band-aid for hours to get it off, even though she knew that just made it hurt more in the long run.

And then the alpha pack swept into town and something like pregnancy just seemed so tiny and unimportant--while at the same time giving her a rather...unique perspective. She stared at a blind alpha from behind Scott, and thought about how stupid it all was. She thought about how they had had so much _bullshit_ thrown at them since day-fucking-one, about how despite everything they just kept coming out on top, pulling through by the fucking skin of their teeth(or however that saying went). After all that, after the kanima and the hunters and fucking Peter, after everything they survived, this fucking pack of bullies thought they were in a position to judge them? To pass judgment upon them?

Stiles thought about how much that _pissed her off._

She glanced behind the alphas. Boyd and Erica were strung up in horrific mimicry of Jesus on the cross, which was never an image she was a fan of in the first place and was now officially nightmare fuel. The were more bloody than not, their clothes and skin equally tattered. Stiles couldn't tell if they were breathing, although the wolves seemed fairly confident they were alive.

Scott shifted to stand firmly in front of her, blocking her from view as much as blocking her view of them. She shifted her attention to him with a disapproving frown. Ever so slightly, he canted towards her, holding his cell out behind him where the alphas couldn't see. Her gaze flickered down to the screen.

**GT RDY 2 RUN**

Uh. How about no?

Stiles stuck her hand in her pocket, fingers seeking silky soft powder that responded eagerly to her touch. Wrapping her hand around as much of it as she could get, she carefully pulled it from her pocket and let it slip from her fingers. As the powder slid slowly down, she rotated in place, breathing low and deep. Calm. Centered. The mountain ash settled in its circle around her, sending a shiver up her spine that she had come to learn was the feel of magic. She dusted off her hands.

"What do you say, Derek? Sounds fair, doesn't it?" Deucalion crooned. Derek snarled. Stiles held up a finger, visible over Scott's shoulder, the tip still faintly stained gray.

"That's a no, I'm pretty sure," Stiles clarified helpfully. Scott glared at her over his shoulder. What? She was _helping._ Besides, she couldn't exactly outrun a pack of alpha. It just wasn't happening. She was under no illusions here.

Deucalion's head tilted, and she could actually feel his attention shifting to her. His attention felt slimey. Even slimier than Peter's or Gerard's, actually, which was...seriously slimey.

"And who's this? Are you actually trying to disguise your scent from me, little druid?" Deucalion drawled. No, _purred._ Stiles felt like gagging.

"Nope," she answered truthfully, downright chipper after the initial gag reflex(heh). She turned one foot and stepped forward, stomping the other foot down outside the circle of ash with her arms tense and braced at chest-level. It was a motion stolen straight from earth-benders, but hey, magic was all about intent and belief. At least, her kind of magic was. She wasn't a fan of what she had seen so far of spells that were all precision and whatnot. So not her style. That was Lydia's area, the science-y side of magic. Stiles was solid earth and flowing water, a perfect symmetry to Lydia's brittle ice and passionate flame. She actually kind of couldn't wait for Lydia to finally lose patience and decide to learn magic too. Lydia's magic would be beautiful, a sight to behold. But for now, they had Stiles' magic, and that wasn't so bad to watch either.

The ash rose with her stomp, hovering an inch above the ground as the very air held still, like the world was holding its breath waiting for her next move. She twisted her feet again, stepping fully outside the circle, and her arms rose. She _pushed_ , and Deucalion jerked. The spell was designed to send humans flying with nothing but pure magical stubbornness, which she had in abundance. It was disappointing that it was little more than a superpowered shove at Deucalion, but she grinned anyway. Because hey, she got a reaction. She backpedaled into the circle as the ash dropped back into place. Allison fired off an arrow from the rafters, hitting Kali in the shoulder, and Lydia lobbed a molotov into Kali's chest while the alpha was distracted. Kali burst into flames and as she screamed the battle raged. Deucalion threw Derek across the building as Scott and Isaac wrestled the twins, and Stiles watched the "demon alpha" stride towards her. He hit the wall of mountain ash, and he pushed back.

Stiles felt her shield begin to crumble immediately. It was incredible, and _impossible_. Alpha-alpha he might have been, but he was still a _werewolf,_ and he had no right to be able to actually fight mountain ash. It was wrong, and Stiles immediately and intensely hated it.

Greek fell from her lips as her hands scrambled for her pockets. The ash scattered as Deucalion lunged, only to jerk back as a handful of wolf's bane pellets exploded against his face and chest. She dug frantically for more ingredients, pulling out little plastic and cloth bags alike and hurling them forward as elegant words continued to spill off her tongue. She dropped a bag of pellets in a frantic dance to avoid Deucalion's claws. The skin on his face and hands was burning, tears streaming from beneath his glasses, but he was so intent on killing her he barely seemed to notice what should have been pure agony. Stiles understood fear. A ball of mixed herbs smashed into his shoulder in time with the last syllable, and the backlash knocked her onto her ass and ran off with her hearing. Staring up, she finally saw Deucalion scream. His back arched, fingers curled into claws, as he let out a roar she could feel in her bones even though she couldn't hear it.

"ALLISON!" she screamed, voice all weird and wobbly over the blood rushing through her ears. Actually, that might be a literal description; her neck felt suspiciously, uncomfortably wet and sticky. She wasn't even sure if she'd actually yelled, but apparently the archer got the message either way, since an arrow shattered one of the dark lenses in its haste to bury itself in Deucalion's eye. As blood coursed down the werewolf's face, he dropped to his knees, the smell of burning flesh and wolf's bane sharp in Stiles' nose. Deucalion was still reaching for her though, even as Death dragged him down. Claws dug into her ankles. She jerked, trying to pull away, and shouted nonverbal protests at him. And like a damsel in distress, when desperate tears gathered in her eyes and he dragged her closer, Stiles screamed, " **DEREK!** "

Not that she stopped fighting, of course. She wasn't actually a damsel in distress. Despite the fact that she was quite distressed and qualified, theoretically, as a damsel. Clawing at the ground in a desperate bid to keep herself from the wolf, she dug into her pockets but found no ammunition waiting at her fingertips.

She licked her lips then breathed deep, felt the air rush through her, and _centered_. One long-fingered hand lifted, displaying the lines of her palm to Deucalion. Her fingers trembled.

"Stop," she breathed, and whined as the power ripped out of her, barely eliciting a grunt of recognition from the blind wolf. Tears streaked down her cheeks freely as she tried to pull free, still to no avail. The demon alpha would die, she had made sure of that, but he was going to take her with him. Derek was going to lose his pup. At least he wouldn't know to mourn it, she thought, a hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat and emerging more like a sob. _Oh God._ Then Deucalion's throat was torn open and his blood splattered over her. She turned over as Derek yanked Deucalion's claws out of her ankle and as he dragged the werewolf away, she retched onto the cold concrete.

Before she could get a good look at the contents of her stomach and probably wind up throwing up more, she turned away from it, swallowing back further bile hastily. She found, when she looked, three dead alphas, including Deucalion and Kali, and the twins admitting defeat. Perfect. That was great because, honestly, she could really use a nap.

"Then get up, I'm not carrying you to the car." Stiles looked up at the sound of Lydia's voice, blinking at the realization she had been speaking her thoughts. "Yes, you were. And still are." Was Lydia a mind-reader--Oh. "Yes, oh. Come on, Stiles. Focus. Stand up. You can do it." Stiles really didn't want to, but as Lydia crooned encouragements and hissed a few insults, she did anyway. 'No' just wasn't in Lydia's vocabulary. "You're damn right it's not. Did he hurt you?" Stiles' teeth clicked together as she looked down. There was blood all over her. Her ankles both hurt, although one significantly more than the other, and she was pretty sure she had cracked her tailbone when she fell. Gingerly, she touched her belly, splaying her fingers over the flat plane, then shook her head. No. She was fine. "No you're not. Your ears are bleeding. Come on, we should get you to Deaton."

"Erica and Boyd?" Stiles whimpered pitifully. Lydia smiled at her, terrifyingly gentle. It was always sort of terrifying when Lydia deigned to be nice.

"Derek and Scott have them. They'll meet us at the clinic. Come on, Stiles. We need to go. Someone called the police, we can't be here." Lydia urged her towards the door, Allison appearing shortly to assist in the herding-of-the-Stiles.

"My dad?" Stiles whined.

"He'll only find bodies. Everyone's dead, except the twins, and they're leaving. Isaac's escorting them to make sure." That was Allison, who followed up by taking hold of Stiles' arm. Lydia claimed her other wrist and together they steered her out of the warehouse, maneuvering her into the back seat of the Camaro. She looked over to see Scott lifting an unconscious Erica into the back of her Jeep, which made sense. He had her keys though, a familiar gleam in his hand. She wondered when that had happened.

"I got them off the ground. You threw them at Deucalion. The Jeep's better for them to ride in," Allison supplied. Stiles nodded, no longer bothered by the fact that her internal monologue was now external. She was really tired.

"Stiles! Stiles, stay awake, I don't know if you hit your head." Lydia twisted around in the passenger's seat, reaching back to bat at Stiles' knee.

Really, really tired.

"No, no, nonono," Lydia chanted, leaning between the seats. Delicate fingers tipped in deceptively soft-looking pink nails gripped either side of Stiles' face, digging in. Stiles' lids fluttered. Lydia's mouth was still moving, her eyes wide and face frantic. There were three Lydias, which was too many Lydias, very scary amount of Lydias. Stiles closed her eyes to block it out. Having her eyes closed felt nice. Something struck her cheek, which hurt quite a bit but only for a moment. Her eyes wouldn't open, expressing a clear preference for staying closed.

Well, they had probably earned it, Stiles figured. Her eyes had seen a lot of shit today. Very psychologically damaging shit, for which she could probably not get therapy because even if there were supernatural-friendly therapists, she probably couldn't afford one. Assuming she could even find one. Deaton might know one.

With a thoughtful hum that buzzed through her sore throat, Stiles took a nap.

 

Blinking open her eyes, Stiles stared at a plain white ceiling. The sliver of wall she could see without turning her head was the dark gray of Deaton's office, already a deeply familiar place to her. Inhaling carefully, she could even smell the spices stashed away in his cupboards, only half a dozen paces away. She was on Deaton's couch then. That was nice. A lot better than waking up on a metal table at least.

She stirred, wincing as the faint movement set her head to throbbing. Despite her body's protests, Stiles sat up, swinging her feet over the edge and planting them firmly on the floor. While her head spun away, she held on to her knees and tried to focus on her toes. They were bare, as were her legs. Someone had pulled off her clothes and replaced them with a pair of boxers and a shirt, neither of which she recognized. Pulling the shirt up to her nose, she found it smelled like Isaac. Which was vastly preferable to Derek or, eugh, Deaton. Her arms were clean, as was her hair, when she reached up to touch it.

Someone had bathed her.

Hopefully Lydia or Allison. Or--okay really just, anyone other than Deaton. Derek or Isaac might even be acceptable. Honestly though, she would probably just rather not think about it. Which meant she would probably hyperfocus on it until she found out who had scrubbed her clean, because her brain was the enemy.

The door creaked open. Head lifting, she blinked at Deaton. Upon seeing her, the vet immediately smiled.

"You're awake. Good. I treated what I could, but I have a potion for you to drink. It will speed up the process of your body restoring its magic, and in doing so assist with the headache, dizziness and some of the overall soreness you are likely experiencing." Stiles blinked some more, long and slow, contemplative. Deaton didn't seem to mind, just started to putter about while she sluggishly worked through what he had just told her.

She was prepared to ask something(she couldn't really say what, later, but it was probably something along the lines of "who saw me naked"), when Deaton appeared in front of her, holding out a coffee mug that smelled absolutely horrifying.

"Your healing always feels kind of like punishment," she commented, but accepted the mug. Pinching her nose shut, she downed the concoction, trying to get as much of it down as she could without tasting it. It was thick, like a melted smoothie, and gritty. Actually, she was pretty sure she felt bits of leaves scrape against her throat on the way down, which was all kinds of nasty. The taste was just starting to register when the mug ran out. She choked, dropping the mug and clamping her hands over her mouth as she forced the rest of the liquid down. There was no description for the taste. Nothing, just, awful. Completely fucking awful, enough so that tears burned in her eyes and she just sat there breathing for a while, thinking about nice, pretty things that had nothing to do with throwing up. Or eating, for that matter.

Deaton calmly carried the mug he had caught away, padding out the door. She heard a sink turn on and the sounds of someone washing dishes a few rooms over.

Scott slunk in just as she was regaining control over her faculties. He looked clean and healthy, and her immediate response was a grin, especially since her headache was already fading, taking the nausea with it.

"Scotty boy," she greeted happily. He promptly perked up, practically bounding over to drop onto the couch beside her and pull her into a hug. Her head spun again, just a little, but she was too busy hugging the shit out of him to care.

"Oh man, you are such an asshole," Scott growled into her hair, squeezing her just tight enough to hurt for a moment before he gentled his hold. "You scared the shit out of me. Lydia was fucking freaking out when you guys pulled up. She was pissed that you fell asleep even though she told you not to, but Deaton said you were just drained and sleep was the best answer and I think she made up a new curse word just for him. It was very colorful."

"I'm sorry I missed it," she mumbled into his shoulder, a sincere apology in her voice. Scott heard it and accepted it with a kiss to her hair.

"Lydia insisted she and Allison wash you. She even made Isaac get shampoo and conditioner and like, body wash and stuff. I think you're the cleanest you've ever been. And while he was out, Isaac brought back clothes for you and Erica and Boyd. Who are fine, don't start freaking out, holy shit do you want Lydia to lose her mind?" Stiles, who had not been freaking out Scott was a drama queen, settled back down with a snuffly giggle, only to jerk upright as she heard him sniffing at her.

"My potion," she blurted out, which clearly made no sense to Scott. Right. "I've got a jar of some orange-red stuff in my jeep. Could you bring it to me?" Her eyes got real big, sad and hopeful at the same time. She needed that jar. There was no way she was letting the alphas interfere any more than they already had, fuck no.

And there was Derek in the doorway, nostrils flaring, eyes blazing red.

"Stiles."

Did the man know how to use punctuation? Seriously, she was going to have to buy him an English textbook or something, it was getting out of hand.

"Derek," she replied, punctuation equally non-existent but in a sarcastic way. The sarcasm was not aided by huge, deer-in-the-headlights eyes or a frantic heartbeat. Not that it mattered, evidently, since Derek immediately turned and walked off. "Okay." She blinked dry eyes, forcing her attention back to Scott, who was looking sort of adorably confused. "Scott. Potion. Jeep. Bag. Front seat. Bring it to me. Please." Rapid-fire orders were something she was surprisingly good at, and something Scott was less-surprisingly good at translating.

Scott nodded, always weak in the face of anyone's pain, and hopped up to do as bid. He returned before anyone else wandered in, and she barely stopped herself from actually snatching the jar out of his hands. She unscrewed the cap, took a sip, then replaced the cap and set the jar between her legs. Scott made himself at home beside her, hugging her tight. His nose returned to its spot in her hair, and they relaxed together until, after barely a few minutes, he was making a face.

"You smell like pumpkin pie again," he grumbled, sounding petulant. "You were finally starting to smell normal." Stiles snorted, rearranging herself and the jar so she could turn over and snuggle into Scott.

"Get used to it," she retorted, or repeated, rather, and he chuffed unhappily into her hair but didn't argue.

Curled up together like a pair of puppies, Scott and Stiles dozed, until a soft knock at the open door roused them. They blinked with identical expressions of sleepy confusion at Isaac, rousing a smile from the curly-haired angel-face.

"Erica and Boyd are up."

Stiles was on her feet immediately, which left Scott to catch her because wow she should not do that again. He set her jar on the couch, and she let him scoop her up with only a few mild complaints. She actually cooperated, still too dizzy to genuinely think walking was a good idea. And besides, she really wanted to see Erica and Boyd sometime within the next hour, preferably sooner.

Erica and Boyd were indeed up, if your definition of "up" was really loose and also very generous. They were kind of just propped against each other on the very same metal table Stiles had been glad not to wake up on herself.

They looked at her, and Stiles reached out both hands with a whining noise. Scott obligingly transferred her to the table, where she wrapped her arms around both werewolves' necks and hugged them fiercely. They returned the hug with one arm each, pulling her into a mini puppy-pile. Lydia and Allison eventually showed up, and then Deaton came in to suggest "everyone go home and get some rest." Which sounded like a brilliant plan. Except for the part where Stiles would be alone. And Boyd and Erica would be sleeping in some form of abandoned building, or Derek's creepy loft(she still wasn't actually sure about who all stayed at the loft) which was also not okay.

She made sure to grab her potion on the way out. Or rather, she made sure Scott grabbed it, because he was carrying her again.

"So, sleepover at Casa de Stilinski?" she drawled, and everyone piled into the jeep and Lydia's car, and, well, they had a sleepover at Casa de Stilinski. They all crashed in the living room, not a single one of them staying awake for more than the opening credits of the movie they put in. Erica complained a lot about Stiles smelling like pumpkin pie, until Scott and Stiles said in stereo, "Get used to it."

Stiles stirred only when her dad came in, blinking sleepily up at his bewildered expression.

"It's not an orgy," she slurred helpfully.

"Okay," the sheriff nodded, then he went to dress down and eat something; Stiles fell asleep to the sound of him messing around in the kitchen, still too exhausted for anything else.

 

When she woke again, it was to her dad...getting home. Again. The pack had all cleared out, and morning light filtered in through the blind. Which--she actually had no idea how long she had slept for. A really, possibly unhealthily long time. But she wasn't dizzy, so that was cool.

She did feel an immediate need to throw up though, which was less cool.

At least she made it to the toilet before emptying the contents of her stomach, which wasn't actually all that much but she made a valiant effort to bring up more for a while. Especially after her traitor of a brain decided to start bringing up the alpha pack, specifically, Deucalion, and wow she really loved the toilet right then.

"Oh great porcelain god," she groaned into the bowl.

A cold compress was pressed to the back of her neck and she moaned shameless relief. Her dad brushed the hair from her face and she could feel him crouch down beside her. She could also feel awkward questions coming, so it seemed like a good idea to just get all the awkward out of the way by way of barreling directly through it.

"What are your feelings on grandchildren?" she asked the toilet with her eyes closed, because her level of not caring wasn't quite at the point of actually facing her dad while asking that.

Her dad was a sheriff. She was not exactly being subtle here. There were still a few minutes of quiet after the question though, him lightly stroking her hair as she considered whether or not she was going to throw up/dry heave some more. It didn't seem like it. Sitting up dislodged her dad's hand, but not the cold compress. She dropped the seat(the top one; she did not want to watch that) and flushed before standing on wobbly legs. Turning to the sink, she washed out her mouth and scrubbed her face thoroughly. There was no tooth paste or mouthwash in the downstairs bathroom, but a thorough application of just water still improved matters considerably.

"I didn't expect it to be something I needed to have feelings on for a long time," her dad said very, very carefully. She turned around, hopping up to perch on the edge of the counter. She smiled at her dad as he eyed her, wondering if she was even half as pale as him. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that she was, in fact, significantly paler. Right.

"Accidents," she sighed as she stared down at her feet. Still bare. "Stupidity. That sort of thing."

"Were you safe?" John asked. His hand settled on her knee, bringing a part of him into view forcibly. Gently though. Her dad was good like that.

Stiles scrunched up her face, thinking about it. "Yeah. But we were--it was very...stress relief." Talking to her dad, Stiles suddenly felt like a little girl. Actually, she felt her own age. For the first time since Peter bit Scott she felt like a teenager. It was awful. She buried her face in her hands, hunching over to brace her elbows on her thighs, careful not to disturb his hand. She appreciated it being there, grounding her. "It was exactly as stupid and irresponsible as it sounds, but we did use a condom. Condoms." Oh god way too much sharing. With her _dad._ This was mortifying, why couldn't she just go back to fighting werewolves? "And I know he was--safe, like, STD-wise. But condoms are--"

"Only 99-percent effective," the sheriff finished for her on a sigh. "How long have you known?" Stiles groaned.

"Uhm. Maybe...a month? Ish?" she hedged, and actually felt her dad roll his eyes.

"During which I've barely seen you," he huffed. Stiles snorted, peering up at him through her fingers.

"I started working with Deaton," she admitted, and was delighted that it wasn't a lie at all. Hey, all this not-lying felt pretty nice. Maybe she should go a step further. She dropped her hands, sitting up some and making herself face him. She had faced down Deucalion, she could talk to her dad. About...werewolves. "How was work yesterday?" she asked because holy god no. Unexpectedly though, the sheriff's face fell, expression twisting. She mimicked the expression, though lighter, in sympathy. "That bad, huh?" Hers had probably been worse. Maybe they could have a bad-day off. Haha, how about she shot herself in the foot instead. 

"Three murders," he sighed. "Animal attacks again. It was," he cut off, frowned and verbally waved it off with, "Never mind, you don't need to worry about it." Shit. Was it too late to Google 'how to not look like you murdered someone recently'? Yes. Yes it was, particularly since her dad was giving her a look. One of his patented sheriff looks where she had no idea what her face was doing exactly but she knew it was being a traitor. "Stiles," the sheriff began, in his most dangerous tone. Stiles swallowed, drawing back, and into herself a bit, if she was honest. Her dad's sigh had her gaze flickering up to his face again. "Don't you think we've had enough lies, kiddo?" He sounded tired.

Stiles leaned back to stare intently at the ceiling, considering this prospect. The truth would make things so much easier.

"The truth is dangerous," she said outloud, sadly. John's grip on her knee tightened.

"I'm the _sheriff_ Stiles," he growled, almost as impressively as a werewolf. Stiles snorted anyway, if humorlessly.

"And I'm your totally badass daughter and look where that's gotten me," she retorted, but ultimately she knew it was useless to argue after admitting that she was doing something dangerous. Dropping her head, she could see in her dad's eyes that he wouldn't let her out of the house until she spilled the beans. Problem was, once she told him, he might be even more determined to lock her up. "We're not moving," she told him firmly before slithering down off the counter to her feet. "Also if I'm telling you this whole stupid story, we're doing it somewhere comfortable. Into the living room. Stop making the sheriff face, Dad, I'm about to be all sorts of honest. You're going to hate it." Hopefully he wouldn't hate _her._ Making the saddest of faces, she waited until he sat down in his chair to take a spot on the couch as far from him as possible. And then she got up and started to pace because there was really no other way to tell this tale.

"So, okay, remember when I went looking for a body in sophomore year? Yeah, Scott got bit by a werewolf. It gets crazier, and I have proof, and if you interrupt I may forget stuff so try not to okay? Cool. So, werewolves."

The sheriff interrupted quite a few times, but at least he didn't directly accuse her of sanity. That was something.

Her proof was a fortunately flashy-as-hell defensive spell that made symbols glow in the air around her. The sheriff was suitably impressed. He also poured himself some whiskey and Stiles called Melissa to come over and help him process. She left them in the kitchen to their alcohol and headed up to bed, thankful for the weekend. Small favors.

Surprisingly little changed after that, except she and her dad were suddenly a lot more honest with each other. With insider information on the three "victims," the sheriff managed to steer the town's attention away from any damning evidence, and with a convenient string of robberies(literally; they just happened to pop up) it wasn't too hard to make the town forget all about the gruesome murders, aided by how little information the media had been given in the first place.

After a surprisingly small amount of arguments, her dad agreed it was probably for the best that she continue training under Deaton. Which was great.

What was not great was that he refused to go along with her "let's hide things from Derek(and pretty much everyone else)" plans. He presented horrifyingly sensible arguments in a reasonable manner, and she conceded the point after only about a week of basically just being a difficult, stubborn little shit. The scent scrubber would do nothing when she started to actually show, not to mention that the wolves would probably hear the tiny little secondary heartbeat. Also, telling Derek was the only way to stop her dad from arresting him for statutory rape, "only five years, and really I'm a lot more mature than my age group" be damned. He would probably still have pursued it, actually, except Stiles would definitely not have cooperated and she played the sympathy card on Derek's behalf _really hard._

But when it all came down to it, a pack meeting was called, and Stiles had to tell them about her dad's enlightenment so she figured, _ah, fuck it._

And then she was standing outside the loft, picking at the metaphorical band-aid. For the first time since she made it, she hadn't taken the scent scrubber today. As far as her nose was concerned, she smelled nothing like pumpkin pie anymore. The effects of the potion were twenty four hours, officially, and her last dose was thirty two hours ago. It was unexpectedly uncomfortable to be without it. Not quite like being naked, but close. She felt vulnerable, exposed. Not-fun.

Her phone chirped. She pulled it out to make faces at the text message.

Brotp 5ever  
Received 6:43 PM  
 **dereks getting pissy u coming in????**

She huffed and shoved the phone back into its pocket, starting up the stairs by way of response. The door was unlocked, so she shoved it open and strolled on in. The whole pack was in the living room, Derek standing there looking his usual scowly self. He turned as she entered, looking ready to chew her out, but his nostrils flared and he froze.

With an internal appreciative whistle for how remarkably dramatic Derek could be, she strolled over to sit down on the couch.

"I told Dad about werewolves and stuff. He'll make sure people stop looking in to the bodies," she told the room at large, and tuned out the burst of noise. Too many questions. Too loud. Her head tilted back onto the couch, eyes closing. Mm. Much less noise. Until a cool fingertip prodded her cheek at least.

"Stiles?" Lydia murmured, and Stiles reluctantly cracked one eye open to peer at her. "You alright?"

"Deaton taught me a new spell yesterday. I also told my dad he's going to be a granddad. It's been a long week." Lydia nodded her understanding.

" _What_." Hey look, Derek had some (punctuation-less) input. Stiles rolled her head to give him a look that was initially intended to be impressed but it was generally the opposite.

Scott and Isaac squawked at the same time, and Stiles was prepared for that--what she was not prepared for was Boyd getting shoved off the couch and Allison and Erica claiming a seat on either side of her. They both tucked an arm around her and Stiles realized something very important.

"Girls are incredibly creepy." Lydia swatted her in the back of the head, then sat down between her and Erica, forcing the blonde to scoot over. Stiles stared at her, leaning towards Allison who was definitely the least scary of the girls. "Really creepy. Like seriously, how have I gone so long without realizing this? How have we convinced the world that boys are the weird ones?"

"Boobs, sweetie," Erica said, leaning forward to smirk at her around Lydia.

"Stiles? What do you mean he's going to be a granddad?" Scott stared at her with big, wounded eyes.

Stiles made jazz hands. "Surprise, baby. Literally. Surprise. There's a baby in here. Well, sort of. I mean, at what point does it qualify as a baby? But yes. It's there. You can touch it." She leaned back, stretching out her legs in front of her as Scott managed to wedge his hip in between her and Allison, setting his hand on her belly happily, exactly as she had expected him to. At least she could still predict some people. "You're an adorable brother, bro."

Scott grinned, looking like he wanted to wag his tail. She wondered if she needed to remind him that he didn't have a tail. "Derek's?" he asked, because Scott loved barreling directly through things like social rules or awkwardness or really just anything that stood in his way. Oh, bro. Wherever would Stiles be without you? Probably really lonely and, dead, actually. Scott was definitely the survival-instinct-having one in their bromance.

"Who else?" she drawled, dropping her head back to stare at the ceiling again. Time to pretend she was home alone. She embraced it for as long as possible, which was only about five seconds. At that point, the room clogged with raised voices, everyone demanding answers at once and no one giving her the chance to actually answer.

"OUT." Derek's shout rose about everyone else, and silence descended. Stiles' head popped up to stare at him. Scott shivered against her with what she recognized as the beginnings of a growl. She grabbed his wrist, pushing his hand gently away.

"It's fine. Derek and I should talk," Stiles sighed, admitting defeat once and for all. She made shooing motions. "I'm good, really. Have some faith, bro." Scott did not look like he had faith. At least his doubts seemed to be directed towards Derek rather than Stiles though. Although Scott's lingering hate for Derek wasn't really a positive thing, honestly. She rubbed uncomfortably at an itchy spot on her arm, watching the pack file out, a few of them shooting looks to either she or Derek that she didn't feel like interpreting just then. 

She heard the door shut, although her gaze was focused on the ceiling. They remained in silence until various cars started up and pulled away, and then Stiles waited for Derek to break the silence.

And waited.

"I've only had about six hours of sleep in the past three days, so if you want to have an actual conversation instead of just stare at me while I nap, I advise speaking up." Stiles sighed heavily to punctuate her words, mentally taking note of a faint smoke stain on the ceiling. She wondered if Derek had noticed, if it bothered him.

"Six--Stiles!" The indignant tone of his snarl made her snicker and lift her head just so he could see clearly when she rolled her eyes at him.

"Yes Derek?" she asked sweetly.

"You--I can't--" Derek's face was twisted into a snarl as he scrambled for words, looking a bit like he wanted to kill something. Probably with his teeth. Stiles sat there watching him, enjoying the show for a few minutes as he grew increasingly frustrated. Yeah, she supposed. Probably not the easiest topic to broach.

With another eyeroll, she swirled a hand at him, chasing his failed attempts away impatiently. "You'd be surprised how much someone can change in a couple months," she told him in a dry tone, lips twitching in a threat to smile. It probably wouldn't be a very nice smile though. "You never asked what I did to Deucalion." That made his expression change, from frustrated and angry to that but also confused. "Go ahead. Ask." She wanted to hear the words.

Derek brooded at her while she waited, her brows slightly arched while his frowned more and more severely. Poor smooshy puppy. Stiles out-waited him. She _really_ wanted to make him say the words.

"How did you--what did you do to Deucalion, Stiles?" he carefully forced out between his teeth. Ah, that was satisfying. She had no idea why, it just was. Getting him to use an actual question mark was especially nice.

Stiles grinned at him. "Magic," she declared and did a bit of jazz hands for good measure. Just to get the point across. Dropping the grin, she leaned back on her elbows against the back of the couch and stretched her legs out even further. "You see, Derek, you sort of upset me. I mean first there was the darach. Ms. Blake. In your loft. Yeah, that sort of...bothered me. I was not a fan of that. But I guess I could have gotten over it. I mean, we weren't exactly in a relationship, although I'd like to think one was at least implied. And it's not like you knew she was evil, so as much as I'd like to I can't actually hold that against you. But then you not only made me watch you die--" Okay that was harsh and untrue, but Stiles was not feeling her most generous--"you didn't actually die. And then you just...let me think you were dead. For three days. And would probably have let me think so longer, except I had, I don't know, a fit of sentimentality and broke in. So, secret out. I feel the need to point out that I still gave you opportunity even then. And you told me to leave. So I did--and then I went to Deaton."

Her grin returned, feral and unpleasant overall. Derek was staring at her. If she had to guess, she would call his expression horrified and guilty, although there were a few emotions there she couldn't even guess at.

"Conveniently, one of the first books he handed me had a whole section dedicated to werewolves. I was...inspired to learn them very, very thoroughly. And make a scent scrubber for my first potion, so the pack wouldn't sniff out the baby before I felt like sharing the info." She sighed heavily and abruptly, exhaling her growing anger as she came to a rather sudden realization; Stiles wasn't really angry. Well, she was, but not furious. She didn't really want to yell at Derek. What she wanted, if she was perfectly honest, was to shove him to the floor and make out with him--after she heard him say the words that had been pounding through her stupid heart for months. She didn't want to be casual. She didn't want to not matter. And dammit, she didn't want to just be pack either. Stiles was selfish. She wanted the whole package or none at all. But maybe she also just wanted him to be happy. For once in his goddamn life, she wanted Derek to have a good thing, even if that good thing wasn't her.

"Dad knows," she told him, even though he already knew that. "He's not going to pursue any legal things; he might shoot you, I don't know, I expect you to sort that out yourself. But I'm going to have this baby, and Derek--you fucked up. I mean, we both did, but. You totally fucked up, so this, this is your last chance. I don't know how you're going to fix this. But I'm going to let you try. Don't fuck it up. Please." Her stare was a little too honest, a little too desperate. It ached, deep down in her heart, and a little in her eyebrows which weren't really made to twist that way.

Before she could do something stupid, like cry, she hopped to her feet, shoving her hands into her pockets and trying not to hunch her shoulders in a dejected fashion. Despite everything, despite all the aging she had done in so short a time, some part of her still felt like just a teenage girl with a crush. A pregnant teenage girl. Stiles rubbed the back of her neck. "And for fuck's sake, fix up your living arrangements." She glared at him, although these actually felt like the nicest words she had said to him in a long time. "This may be the first baby born to the pack, but it won't be the last. You're hardly on your own anymore, Derek. It's time to stop acting like you are."

For a moment, she stood there bouncing on her heels, staring at Derek. And then it became clear that he really had no idea what to say. She may have broken him actually. Stiles looked away.

"Right. I'm just gonna--" she jabbed a thumb towards the door--"Go now. See you later, I guess. You, uh...You know where to find me." Her eyes landed on him for half a moment, not even enough time to evaluate his expression, and then she more-or-less bolted.

As she slipped out the door, she thought for sure she heard a low, mournful whine, but the door slammed shut and she all but sprinted towards her jeep. With a groan, she dropped her head onto the steering wheel and questioned her life choices.

The passenger door opening had her jerking upright, twisting around in preparation for--what? More yelling? Crying maybe? But it was just Scott, sliding into the passenger seat without a word. After a moment, he silently took her hand. She squeezed his fingers as tight as she could the whole way home.

Once home, Stiles indulged in a good ole Dad-hug(the best sort of hug), hugging him back as tight as she could, like she never intended to let go. Her dad didn't seem any more inclined to either, so they just stood there hugging in the hallway for a while, Scott puttering around the kitchen making popcorn, until Stiles finally felt like she could survive outside the circle of safeness that, even now, still managed to exist within her dad's arms. Even knowing it was just an illusion left over from childhood didn't detract from the magic of a dad-hug.

She smiled gratefully up at him, then waved around in a way that was somehow indicative of Scott. "Scott and I are gonna have a game-a-thon until I kick him out," she told him, and they shared a grin at the old, familiar sentence. It was something she had said a lot of times. It was also the precursor to a lot of sleepovers. John reached out to grip her shoulder, giving it a firm, affectionate squeeze, then they finally broke apart.

"I'm going to hit the hay," he stated, and she laughed when he yawned, eliciting a sulky expression from him. He made a face at her, then flapped a hand in her direction, grumbling something sleepy and unintelligible.

"Yeah, yeah. Good night to you too. Love you, Dad." She'd been telling him that a lot lately, because lately she'd remembered just how great her dad kinda was. On that note, she ducked in for another hug, this one short but no less tight. And then she hurried into the kitchen to make sure Scott didn't burn the house down.

With bowls of popcorn, chex mix, trail mix, chips, and a pizza in the oven, they threw themselves into the living room for a proper game-a-thon. Stiles royally kicked ass while snuggled so close Scott had to twist himself awkwardly around her. It was incredibly comfortable, and when he drily remarked fifteen minutes in that, "You know Mom and your dad and everyone pretty much is going to make you change your diet completely starting like, tomorrow," it just made her groan.

"Ugh, don't remind me," she grumbled, shoveled a handful of cheetos in her mouth, and jump-kicked Scott's character into oblivion. She laughed at his whine and they went back to their gaming. The baby wasn't forgotten, merely...put aside, just for a little while. It was hours later when Scott finally brought it up again, in a somewhat roundabout way.

"I could kill him, you know," he remarked, and it would have been completely out of the blue but, try as she might, it was actually pretty hard to forget that she had a little life growing inside her. She laughed, light and dry.

"Thanks," she answered, acerbic but sincere. "But it's gonna be hard enough explaining all the shit that lead up to their existence to this kid without adding 'and Uncle Scott killed your dad because he was a prick.'"

Scott snickered. The game was paused, the pizza demolished and bowls set aside. Sliding down on the couch a bit, he leaned in to her, tucking his chin over her head and an arm around her shoulders. "I could still beat the snot out of him at least," he sighed into her hair. Nestling against him, something that had recently become infinitely more familiar than ever before, she echoed his sigh.

"For what, Scott? He didn't mean for this to happen and did his best to prevent it. I'm the one that threw myself at him anyway. He could have turned me away but--we were both consenting adults--" thank fuck for peers who wouldn't argue with that; if she could kill people, fight daily for her own life and her friends' lives, not to mention all the other fucking _bullshit_ , she was pretty sure she qualified as an adult, more so than most legal adults, in fact--"and there was no...there were no expectations. No obligations. I mean, sure, he was a dick but..." Her voice trailed off. Scott hugged her tighter, nuzzling her head. Scent-marking her.

"Don't be stupid, Stiles," he muttered, and that made her look up, incredulous. He smiled, and his voice was whisper soft as he clarified, "I'd beat him up for breaking your heart." And then the tears started and he picked up the remote to switch from gaming to cartoons and held her even as her stifled weeping turned into shuddering sobs, as she clutched at his shirt and just...cried. Cried because her heart was broken, because her life was changed completely(it wasn't over; the idea of pregnancy, teenage or otherwise, making anyone's life "over" was just stupid, but definitely changed) and the love she'd tried so hard to ignore had been so carelessly kicked aside. She sobbed because she had no idea what to do with a baby, and because finally, in her brother's warm embrace, she could finally let herself.

When the tears stopped, he passed her a tissue and she blew her nose, then hopped up to wash her face with cold water in the kitchen. She took a few minutes to compose herself, then she went out and kicked Scott's ass at video games some more. Six-or-so hours into their game-a-thon, her shortage of sleep lately caught up and Stiles yawned, slumping over against Scott as she stole the remote, turning the Xbox off and turning back to cartoons. Of the adult variety this time, since it was the middle of the night.

Scott wuffled her hair without even trying to be subtle. In his defense, Stiles didn't really try to protest that sort of thing anymore. The wolves liked smelling their packmates; she could accept that.

They spent a few more hours watching Archer and Futurama and similar, before Scott shifted from his cheek on her hair to his chin on her shoulder. "Are you ready to talk to Derek or should I tell him to go home?" he murmured. She jolted, looked towards the door, then stared at him. Scott grinned, all puppy-sheepish. "He's in your room."

Stiles blinked. That was--well, it wasn't really surprising, honestly. But something in Scott's expression...She narrowed her eyes at him. "How long has he been in there?" Scott looked up, scratching at his cheek in a blatant avoidance technique. She punched him in the arm before he could even start trying to lie. "Scott!" she hissed. He jumped a little, then gave her a goofy, "don't be mad" grin.

"He got here about five minutes after we did. I think he ran," Scott admitted. Stiles let out an indignant squeak before hitting him again, slapping his shoulder this time.

"Scott!" she tried to hiss again and instead got a squeaky, girly noise that just did not suit her. Scott's grin was apologetic but kinda shameless too. She and the pack were terrible influences on him.

"What? He totally deserved to wait. And be forced to sit and behave himself for a while. Let him think about what he's done, that sort of thing, right?"

Stiles sat back, gave her oldest friend a suspicious and knowing glare. "You're being all big-brother, aren't you?" she accused, and Scott's huge, dorky grin was all the answer she needed. She groaned at him. "Fuck. Fine, yes. I will go talk to him. Get out, you jerk. No sleepover for you. I have a baby daddy to deal with and you're not invited." She kissed his cheek, then scrambled to her feet before he could start whining or protesting.

"Good luck, asshat!" he called.

"Fuck off, chickenshit!" she responded, already halfway up the stairs. She paused, bounced back down a few steps to lean around the wall and grin at him. "I love you, you stupid mutt."

Scott grinned at her, puppies and rainbows and sunshine and shit. "I love you too. You're going to have the grossest cravings." Her eyes widened in alarm, and he was still laughing as he fled.

Stiles stood there a while, contemplating what sort of horrible things she would probably start demanding sooner rather than later. Then she shrugged, gave her flat tummy a look, and headed up the stairs. She slipped into her room, quietly shutting the door behind her before she faced the wolf in her bed.

"I feel like there's a pamphlet warning me about this. Multiple pamphlets, actually," she remarked. Leaning back against the door, she crossed her arms under her breasts and stared down the father of her unborn child. Derek was sitting on her bed, boot-clad feet on the floor, eyes fixed somewhere around her midsection. She wasn't sure if he was trying to stare intently enough to see the fetus, or merely avoiding her gaze.

He didn't say anything for a while, and Stiles was never really a patient sort. Heaving a sigh over him, she strode over to take a seat in front of her computer, turning the chair to put her back to him. She woke up the screen and clicked over onto Reddit. After browsing on there for a while, she switched to Tumblr, immediately immersed in the ever-familiar internet. Over the past few weeks she had taken to following a handful of parenting blogs, which posted the good, the bad, and the ugly of child-rearing. She already had a decent-sized folder in her bookmarks of things that seemed like they'd be helpful, before and after the baby was born. Which honestly seemed just so terribly _teenager_ of her that she had flinched when bookmarking the first dozen or so. It was smart though, honestly. The age of technology was wonderful.

She was reading a surprisingly informative horror story involving bloody poop and projectile vomit(if she had to write a report on her research on babies, she would probably just write "Babies are fucking horrifying" over and over again) when Derek cleared his throat. It immediately caught her attention because, holy shit, _that was practically polite._ Swiveling the chair around quickly, she stared at him, eyes maybe a little mockingly wide.

"Holy fuck, are you going to start, like, being nice to me now that I'm carrying your kid? Cause I'm not gonna lie; that'd be pretty awesome," she said, because she was an asshole. She liked being an asshole. Asshole was a good look for her. Okay it probably wasn't but it was the only look she could manage because, again, she was an asshole. At the core. And now that she had said it, she realized that was a lie--not the asshole bit, that was the absolute truth, but what she said to Derek. She didn't want Derek to be nice to her because she was pregnant, with his kid or anyone else's. Hell, she didn't even necessarily want him to be nice to her; she liked him as he was. Well, she wouldn't mind some change, but they were both assholes. They worked. Which, woah, back up, was she acknowledging her feelings now?

Stiles looked deep into impossible green-hazel eyes and determined that, nope, her emotional growth was still gonna stick with "stunted" for the time being. See? She and Derek totally matched.

They were a match made in Hell. Ha. God, Stiles was so funny. People really should appreciate her more.

Derek glared at her, either because of her words or because she was laughing at him in her head and it probably showed on her face. Both were pretty equally likely. In fact, it might have been both. Together. So she threw in a shit-eating grin just to complete the package. Derek growled. There was her stupid alpha. Well, not _her_ alpha. Because Stiles was not a wolf and no, not even Scott was her alpha. The only one who passed for alpha in her life was her dad, and even that was only a temporary and sometimes kind of thing.

Peter hadn't been mistaken when he said she was lying, back when he offered to bite her(so fucking long ago now, or so it felt at least). She had wanted to be a werewolf. Still did, maybe, at least a little. But she didn't want the conditions that came with being one. Like alphas. Stiles was just not going to roll over, but she didn't much want to be an alpha either. She was possessive enough already without some magical mojo bullshit going on. Plus, ugh, responsibility. Whatever, she was a teenager so sue her.

"I'm not--" Derek started, let out a frustrated growl and tried again. "I don't have any family left." Stiles blinked. This was not where she expected him to go. After a moment, she settled her hands in her lap and turned her chair the rest of the way needed to face him fully, leaning forward and doing her best to look serious. It wasn't an expression she had practiced often before Scott got bit, but she was getting a lot better at it lately. "I mean, there's Peter. But he's not exactly..."

"Not exactly the uncle you knew, before the fire," Stiles finished for him softly. He nodded curtly.

"He's better now, than he was when he was the alpha. Obviously." Otherwise Derek would have put him back in the grave, if Stiles and Lydia didn't do it themselves. They might even have let Scott help, shared grudges and all that. "But he's just Peter--my Uncle Peter is gone. He died in that fire, and maybe a part of him came back, but he's still not all there, and he never will be. I used to have a huge family. There were always kids underfoot, at our house. I hated it as much as I loved it, even when I was a brat teenager. And I--I don't know what I wouldn't do for a family, Stiles." His voice sounded so raw, so fucking honest, that it broke her damn heart a little with every hoarse word. "So yes, I will absolutely be nice to you. I will do--anything. For--"

"Derek," she interrupted, unable to take anymore. The rough, teary whisper of her own voice caught her off-guard, enough to allow a few tears to leak free. Fucking emotions and shit. She cleared her throat, forcing the urge to cry as far back as she could get it, and tried again. "Derek, you don't have to--nothing you do will change anything. I mean, no stop with the running away face, you dumbass." The word felt fond, as it hadn't since--fuck, since they slept together. She stood, a little shaky, and half-stumbled the few feet to him. She dropped to her knees when her legs just refused to cooperate any more, took his hands in hers, and smiled up at him. "You were a fucking dick. But we both messed up. And I'm totally gonna yell at you some more later, especially when my hormones start doing the tango, but nothing, absolutely nothing will make me deny you your-- _our_ baby, Derek. I mean, unless you're abusive or--I mean, obvious, extenuating circumstances." Despite how fucked up Derek was though, she wasn't worried about that, not really. He would never hurt his family. He was far too scared to. Actually, she would probably have to interfere so he didn't spoil their kid rotten. "But even if I ever yell anything like that at you in the next seven months, which I can't promise I won't; pregnancy hormones are sometimes serious bastards, okay? But just--I want you to have a family, Derek. You may be a bit of a fuck-up, but you deserve at least a chance to try. This kid is ours. And we'll have to keep a little on the down-low until I'm eighteen, but still. Our kid, Derek. You don't have to be fake. I want nothing to do with a fake-you. You fucking moron."

Derek stared at her, until she smiled big and wide, and he finally slumped forward, like a puppet with its strings cut. His face dropped to her shoulder where he dragged in a lungful of her scent. Of their baby's scent, actually, she imagined. "Thank you," he whispered. His fingers tightened around hers, and he lifted one hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. "Thank you, Stiles. And I'm--I'm sorry. So fucking sorry."

Stiles let her head fall against his with a little sigh. "You're damn right you are," she murmured, having no energy to demand anything more than that. Her legs slid, leaving her sitting in a more comfortable position, and there they awkwardly huddled together, him hunched over and her sitting on the damn floor with her head right about belly-button level, and it was...good. Strangely, comfortably, good.

Maybe not quite right. Certainly not perfect. But considering their life, she figured good was, well, pretty damn good.


	2. Two: The Biter and Month Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there might be a vampire, lessons are learned, and cavities are developed(by the readers).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **UNNECESSARILY LONG WARNINGS**  
>  There are only sort of..."three-ish" I feel apply as of Chapter 2(and these warnings will not be reposted for any more chapters):  
> This deals with pregnancy, so there is the obvious thing of dealing with things like abortion, although _they are not actually directly addressed or discussed._  
>  And...Stiles may also be rather...verbally abusive? towards "the fetus," in ways some may find offensive? And this deals with Stiles in various stages of pregnancy in quite a few dangerous situations, with Stiles refusing to be sidelined. I know this is not something everyone enjoys, so I felt the need to warn for it. If reading about a pregnant woman in danger makes you uncomfortable, **this is not the fic for you.**  
>  Oh, uh, and there are other situations that I personally wouldn't approve of in general, and a couple teen pregnancy jokes here and there(I don't think there's anything particularly offensive in that area, because I couldn't even think of any actually offensive "jokes" about teen pregnancy, although I put serious fucking effort) so if that's a trigger you might avoid this or just skim over a couple parts. Stiles could also be considered fairly OP because, again, this is all about BAMF!Stiles.
> 
> I feel the need to stress this simple fact:  
>  **This fic is about pregnant!Stiles being an absolute BAMF, plus Sterek, and fluff.** Mostly fluff. So this is all everyone's happy, nothing is particularly serious, and honestly the majority of this is at least a little ridiculous and I doubt anyone's gonna find this trigger-y but I prefer over-warning to under. There is fairly gratuitous amount of cursing though. Sorry.
> 
> Ehem.  
> I hope you enjoy the fluff and stuff(heh). Sorry for any accidental feels, and also sorry if your teeth melt or something.  
> Anyway, hopefully despite everything this is a fun read.  
> (I'm so sorry for the feels that snuck in I swear they were unintentional.)
> 
> This is, as the chapter title declares, Month Three(ish). We may have all nine months and a bonus after-the-birth chapter, we may not, we'll see. Nothing is as planned out or researched as much as a responsible author should have it, but I've never claimed to be one of those. Hopefully more chapters will mean shorter wait time! Also, they'll never cliffhanger and can kind of be read individually, so you at least won't be left in suspense for months or anything. Promise.

So the baby was out of the bag. Or the magical scent-scrubber potion, as it were. That was--that was done and there was nothing she could do about it. Somehow she did not anticipate at least one of the results. And that result was Deaton.

More accurately, she didn't anticipate being metaphorically dragged to Deaton's office by way of Scott saying, "Deaton needs your help," and then pulling out the puppy dog eyes. Damn her wavering immunity. She was getting _soft_. Stiles blatantly blamed the hormones. They got her to Deaton's though, and apparently someone(Stiles hoped it was Derek, because fuck him) had given him at least a good chunk of the story since his immediate response to her appearance was to smile, ominously snap a glove into place, and say, "So I hear you're eating for two, now."

Which, ugh, was just such a--such a _weird_ was of putting it. Stiles gave him a look that she really hoped conveyed her level of _seriously!?_ and _wtf_ properly, but Deaton just smiled. Serenely. Because Deaton.

"Oh, no," Stiles started, because she caught on pretty damn quick. "No. I have a doctor. A real, medical professional, fucking _doctor_ to get all up in my junk and check on the baby or whatever."

"I am a medical professional," Deaton pointed out patiently.

"You're a vet!" she cried, outraged. Deaton was completely fucking unflappable. Seriously, one of these days she was going to set his fucking shoes on fire just to get an actual reaction out of the bastard.

"Who treats werewolves," the vet said patiently.

" _I am human,_ " Stiles hissed, not to be placated. Deaton arched one brow and just _looked_ at her, like he didn't even need to say it. Which, in all fairness, he really didn't. Stiles held up her glaring for only a few moments, then slumped, pouting. Scott wasn't exactly privy to all relevant information though and stirred worriedly beside her, starting up a question.

"The baby might not be," she told him before he got beyond "wh-". It was the truth--well, mostly. The baby wasn't human; the last full moon had seen her eating the rarest steak in her life, and she was very much not dumb. But it was a misleading truth, because even if the baby took after her rather than Derek...Well, humans, humans like she and Deaton were talking anyway, humans couldn't do the things she did. Not like her, anyway. Scott whined anyway, so it was probably for the best that she hadn't spilled the beans.

"Fine, fine, doc. Whatever. But I'm just establishing now that I am suffering this under protest; do what you have to but anything my regular doctor can handle, leave it the hell up to him," she bit out, then groaned, sighing her defeat simultaneously. Now that she was thinking about it, she really should have thought of it a lot sooner and on her own. But, well, she had had other things on her mind. Her ankles still screamed with every step _and they weren't even swelling yet fuck_ , and she had all manner of lingering bruises and cuts--not to mention the nightmares. The nightmares might actually be the worst. Stiles had developed a very "healthy" appreciation for being awake.

"Scott, out," she ordered, shooing him with a flap of her hand.

Scott puppy-dog eyed her, but she knew the gist of what was coming, and was not to be swayed. She stared him into submission, a skill not recently acquired but certainly honed. "I'll be right out front," he promised. "Just, like, shout if you need anything, okay?"

Stiles smiled as he gripped her hand tight, but careful. Scott got better at taking care with his supernatural strength every day, and he'd turned into the biggest most adorable fluffmuffin the second he found out she was pregnant. Seriously she hadn't even known it was possible for him to get any more adorable but there it was. In all its floppy-haired puppy-dog glory.

"It's okay," she murmured, holding his hand back as tight as she could. "If I get unhappy, you'll hear the explosion." Before he could wonder whether or not she was joking(she wasn't sure herself, actually), she leaned in, kissed his cheek, and shoved him on his way. With one backwards glance, he disappeared out the door. Both of them waited to hear the front door clang shut before turning their attention to one another.

Deaton smiled in a gentle, reassuring way; it was only slightly creepy, so she gave him points for trying at least. "I promise none of the exams I intend to do will be invasive," he assured her.

Head tilted in what she refused to acknowledge was a dog-like fashion possibly picked up from certain acquaintances(when in doubt, blame Derek), Stiles examined him. She considered his body language, facial expression, words, and tone with great care. Finally she jerked her head in a curt nod and headed for the stupid metal table. At least someone had laid down a thick, folded up blanket and a decent pillow so the discomfort wasn't unbearable. She took a seat, swinging her legs absently, and eyed him askance.

"Need me to lose any clothes?" she asked bluntly, only to have Deaton immediately shake his head, much to her very, very pleasant surprise.

"No, I'll only need to push your shirt up for access to your stomach, nothing more," he soothed, and she accepted it as the truth since he didn't have any reason to lie about it when she had already agreed. Not that she couldn't back out at any time, but still. Stiles wriggled all the way up onto the table, then very carefully and deliberately stretched herself out, snorting faintly at how most of her calves dangled off the end.

True to his word, the exam was actually casual and easy, although also slow and long. It would have bored her to tears, except Deaton let her fill the air with an endless stream of questions, some of which he even deigned to answer. The feel of magic gathering in the air made her nauseous for a moment, but then it was thrumming around her, singing through her blood, and she relaxed under warm fingers against the gentle swell of her belly. The poultice smelled like mint tea and jasmine, and as Deaton's fingers worked it in to her skin, her eyes drifted closed. The scent was blissful, comforting. It was peace in a bottle. It shivered up her arms, curled around her heart, and flowed with a beat and pulse and life all its own. Or--no, wait. That wasn't the poultice, that was...

Stiles gasped, deep and awed, as her eyes flashed open. Unbidden, tears gathered and began to roll hot and heavy over her cheeks.

"Stiles?" Deaton paused in whatever he was doing, although that _thrum_ carried on, to peer at her in concern; she couldn't see his face, she just knew that tone.

"I'm alright," she said, although it came out sort of croaky. "I'm just--I'm perfect. I can feel it." Because it hadn't settled on a gender yet. That was alright. Nothing wrong with being an it for now, or as long as it liked really. "How is it--?" Because she knew this was--this was too much. This was more _life_ than a currently very minimally developed fetus should produce.

"It has very unique blood," Deaton murmured, the smile audible in his voice. She wondered if it would be visible on his face if she looked. "Yours and Derek's--it's a very unique child you're growing inside you, Stiles." That got a laugh out of her, even if it was dry and a little rasping.

"Unique," she parroted sarcastically, but she was grinning. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you could say that." Deaton chuckled and went back to his work.

Eventually he wiped her stomach clean, the thrum of her growing fetus's life fading away, and she wiped at her damp face as he methodically turned away and went about his business, allowing her a moment of privacy to sit up, reset her shirt, and scrub away as many signs of her tears as she could.

When he turned back, Deaton was smiling again, holding up a little jar full of...what looked like random junk, from a non-magical perspective. Even from a magical perspective it was sort of bizarre; feathers, a couple claws or teeth, a strip of lacy cream cloth, some leaves, a marble, some beads...A random assortment of _stuff_ , odds and ends and who-knows-what, in a glass jar with a giant cork for a lid.

"Its a werewolf," Deaton stated first, indicating her belly with the jar. Stiles nodded; she had kinda figured. Fullmoon and all that. "And this," he gave the jar a little shake, apparently unconcerned with whether or not the contents got a bit jumbled, "is a traditional werewolf...you could translate it into something like 'prayer jar.' A good luck charm, of sorts, for unborn and young werewolves. Most of them wind up not having any actual magic, but are generally considered of sentimental value. Some werewolves make the contents into necklaces or other keepsake items, even leaving the jar as-is in many cases, purely for sentimental value. Like a baby blanket, of sorts. Sometimes it gets lost, which is fine; there's no bad omen there or the like. It is made out of pure love and kindness, and cannot be corrupted." That sounded like a quote. Way too schmoopy for Deaton. "With age, the contents can grow to have particular magical value, in some cases. **But none of that matters.** " That sentence was said very firmly, with established eye contact, and Stiles found herself taking it to heart with surprising ease. "This is a gift, for you and your child. A well-wishing, a good-tiding, and a welcoming. May all the best come to be, for not only the two of you, but for all of those you consider family, and pack; pack, and family."

Deaton pressed the jar into her hands, and as a sudden breath of magic, like a trembling tune from a reed flute, danced straight to her heart, she curled her hands around it and held it close. She felt a little like crying again, and shoved it away in favor of a wobbly smile. Fucking hormones. She cried at fiction and funerals, not sappy moments, dammit!

"Thank you, Deaton," she murmured. He nodded at her. They sat/stood in companionable silence for a while after that, smiling at each other, him almost indulgent, her almost honored. Finally she swallowed and managed one of her cheeky grins. "Hey, could I get some of that minty poultice stuff? That was cool as hell. And like, whatever spell went with it? Not like the whole shebang, but it was neat as fuck to like...feel it, all...alive and stuff. Growing. Inside me. Freaky, dude, but neat."

Deaton, _Deaton,_ actually _snorted._ But he was rolling his eyes, turning away with a vague "Yeah, yeah," sort of noise and she grinned, resisting the urge to squeal by channeling her glee into hugging the fuck out of the jar instead.

"Think positive thoughts," he instructed firmly, putting a mason jar with a brown-paper-and-twine "lid" and a folded tag she assumed were detailed instructions hanging off it, in her hands along with the other jar. Neither were particularly large, so they were fortunately easy enough to hold simultaneously. They shared another slightly secretive smile before Deaton stepped back, turning away again and raising his voice for, "Scott!"

Summoned, Scott all but fell into the room, and grinned all lopsided and dopey at her, happy as a puppy could be. She grinned right back at him.

"It's official," she declared, hopping down from the table. "We're getting a puppy." And her bro was totally awesome, so he whooped, swept her up in a hug in which he neatly stole the jars, threw a "seeya Dr. D," at Deaton, and then they were strolling out of there, his arm around her and huge matching grins on their faces.

//***\\\  
\\\\***//

Deucalion sneered down at her, and his eyes were a piercing red, almost as piercing as the claws digging straight down to the bones of her ankles. He opened a mouth full of shark teeth and grinned, heavy slobber pushing free of the gaps in his fangs. Drool dripped onto her, and it burned where it touched. She was sobbing, but she wasn't going to scream. Stiles never could deny pride as one of her greatest sins.

No matter where she reached, she had nothing, no magic, no charms, no _ingredients._ She felt drained, empty, right down to her soul, like even mountain ash would defy her will, and all around her, in the darkness beyond her and Deucalion, there were the sounds of flesh tearing and people dying. People screaming in voices she recognized and desperately didn't want to. But Stiles was always too proud, in so many ways, and as tears burned tracks down her cheeks she sneered at Deucalion, bared her blunt human teeth in a snarl. He laughed, mocking, and she spat in his face. He paused, reached up to wipe the smear away, stared at the wetness on his hand. For a moment, indignation and fury swept across his features, and she was going to die. He was going to rip out her throat and it was all going to be over.

And then he looked down at her, and he grinned, cocky and sure. He looked down further, and her gaze followed his almost against her will. Her belly was swollen and clean and beautiful, healthy and round with the life beating within. One heavy hand landed on it, pushed down. His claws dug in again, and Stiles threw back her head and screamed.

The door burst open, flooding her room with light. Stiles clutched at her only-not-quite-flat belly and screamed and screamed, although she wasn't really sure how much noise was actually escaping her. Her throat felt hoarse and raw, and she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. A hesitant touch fluttered against her shoulder, a beacon of warmth she seemed to recognize more and more easily the more she practiced magic, and that familiarity was all she needed.

"Daddy!" she sobbed and flung herself into his arms. They went immediately around her, and as her father crooned over her head, as he held her close and safe, Stiles buried her face in his shoulder and wept unabashadly. She thought she might have heard the window open, felt a flicker of recognition, thought she felt her dad make some sort of motion, but she didn't care. She just huddled closer and cried until the phantom pain in her stomach finally faded away, along with the far less important pain in her ankles, down to the steady throb that would probably continue for weeks yet, if not months. Her heart still beat too hard, too fast, but she could finally breathe again. "Sorry," she mumbled, stuffy-nosed and miserable. The sheriff shushed her immediately.

"Nothing to be sorry for, angel," he breathed, using that long-ago pet name. She shuddered around another quiet sob. John stroked her hair and waited for it to pass. "Nothing to be sorry for," he whispered again, urgent, firm, but soothing still. "Never apologize for that, angel. I will never begrudge you your nightmares. God knows you have more than enough reason for them, most of which you still won't tell me."

Stiles laughed wetly, which may or may not have been his intention, then hugged him a little tighter. "I love you, Daddy," she whispered.

"I love you, too, angel," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Do you think you can get back to sleep?" She nodded mutely and pulled away. "Okay. Go wash your face off then try to get some more sleep. I'll be right down the hall." Then he kissed her forehead and padded away. She suspected he wanted to stick around for the rest of the night, maybe the week. Really, as long as he could get away with it. So she wasn't surprised when the window slid open and Derek slipped in. He gave her a questioning look, and Stiles debated the merits of crawling under the covers and never coming out because Derek had _heard all of that._

It was pretty tempting, in all honestly. Instead, though, she bit her lip, then supplied a simple, "Deucalion."

That was enough, apparently. Derek nodded. And then he sat down cross-legged under the window like he fully intended to stay there. Stiles...Stiles wasn't touching that with a ten-foot pole. She got up and padded to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face, blew her nose, took the opportunity to pee, rubbed at some more icky tear stickiness in random places, then headed back to her bedroom. Derek hadn't moved. She stopped, stood in the doorway, and stared at him. Derek stared back. They spent a few minutes just staring, neither one budging or breaking eye contact, until she was suddenly assaulted with a huge, jaw-cracking yawn

Stiles turned away, announcing a firm if drowsy, "I don't even care," as she crawled into bed, burrowed under the covers, and tried to think sleep-friendly thoughts. Which was pretty easy with an alpha werewolf playing watchdog under her window, honestly.

It was the best sleep she'd had in months, and she would take that information to the grave.

//***\\\  
\\\\***//

Despite everything, the fact of the matter was that, by law, her and Derek's night of _stress relief_ was illegal. Which, in all fairness, she could understand; there were a lot of sixteen year olds who could be taken advantage of, especially by someone older and attractive. But a lot of sixteen year olds were far more naive than Stiles had been in a long time. Had ever been, really; she'd been creepily mature even as a child, and losing her mom had spiked her maturity so far she'd wound up acting immature just to try and fit in. And then there was the ADHD and...Anyway. Derek, for example, had been a naive puppy of a teenager. Stiles didn't need to be present at the time to realize that, to know Kate had taken advantage of him no matter how vehemently he might have said yes. But Stiles wasn't Derek, and Derek wasn't Kate, and she hadn't really been a kid in a long time. She was too damn young to be a mother, that she knew, but even that would work out. Stiles would make sure of it. Besides, she would have plenty of help. It took a village, and they had a goddamn village. Well, a pack, but a very efficient pack at least on level with a village. Definitely. Well like a really small emotionally stunted village but still. And despite returning to their parents, Boyd and Erica were managing to spend more time with the pack than at home, so lots of hands available at all times at least, although also way too many hands itching to touch Stiles' stomach frankly. They would probably need a bit more help since at least Erica's parents were probably not the best role models for child rearing, not to mention who knew how many of them could actually even change a diaper(Stiles was supposed to start learning in her birthing class with Lydia, joy-oh-joy). Boyd would do fine; he had three younger siblings and when she had vocalized her concerns he had informed her that they were in fact letting him help Erica, since he had gone the route of "Erica went so I went with her." Boyd's parents and his nana(especially his nana) were actually pretty awesome. And Isaac was self-explanatory, but so far seemed pretty into this whole kid thing. Scott was raised by Melissa, who would also be around, and her dad was sort of hilariously awkward sometimes but he was just adorable with babies and would make a totally awesome grandpa. And--okay, yeah, Stiles had very little to worry about, a lot less than most expectant mothers in fact, teenage, single, or otherwise. Discounting the supernatural aspects of her life, that is. Specifically the monsters and the hunters.

But back on topic: according to the law, she and Derek had been all kinds of illegal, and while she fully intended to put his name on the birth certificate, she would rather not take any unnecessary risks. So it was Lydia who accompanied her to her doctor's visits, and Lydia did a damn fine job being absolutely terrifying. Stiles thought even Derek would have approved of how efficiently she terrified the doctor. He still would prefer it was him there, but he would just have to deal with it. Pregnant lady said so, and pregnant lady's word was law. So Stiles declared at about three months when she got her first bout of morning sickness.

Which was awful, in case anyone wasn't sure. But Isaac popped out of the fucking woodwork with some sort of ginseng candy thing--she didn't know what it was exactly or where it came from, and she didn't care, so long as Isaac kept her in constant supply. For once, she didn't even question it, just sort of draped herself over him and mumbled appreciation before flat-out passing out on him. Which, she had learned pretty much immediately after she stopped hiding her scent, not a single one of the werewolves minded. Actually, everyone in the pack--including Lydia, Melissa, Allison, and even Danny and the sheriff, their most recent additions, the sheriff for obvious reasons and Danny because Stiles may or may not have literally sneezed magic at him in a fortunately harmless but eventful incident after school--seemed pretty happy whenever they were picked for Stiles-snuggles. The only time anyone ever woke her up was for school, which meant she did a hell of a lot of sleeping on the weekends. Well, during the day. She was still up to her usual low-sleep habits, but her regular checkups were only ever positive, so while she knew the pack wouldn't like it, Stiles wasn't worried. What the pack didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Well, in this case, at least. What the pack-with-the-exception-of-Stiles didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Yeah.

Pack nights at the Stilinski household had increased a suspicious amount over the past few weeks, something the sheriff adjusted to with a resigned sort of ease after the initial shock of seeing so many teenagers(plus Derek and Peter) piled into his living room. Speaking of Peter, he did a complete 180. That would have been genuinely suspicious, but somehow the thought that Peter couldn't really be creepy at a teenage girl pregnant with his _nephew's baby_ was pretty easy to believe. Especially when she caught him looking all starry-eyed at her, or smiling fondly as he watched Derek watch her starry-eyed. No one really seemed to think she could tell when they got the baby fever(Stiles' official term for it), because apparently her entire pack thought she was blind. Seriously, she had actually made direct eye contact with Isaac and he'd acted like he hadn't just been all glassy eyed and...baby fever'd.

Honestly, and Stiles maybe wouldn't admit this for at least a few years, it was sort of the best time in her life, those few weeks of peace after the alpha pack, after she stopped hiding her scent, those weeks of watching her _pack_ love her and the baby growing inside her.

And then, most of the way through her third month, she stared at a newspaper heading and ground her teeth.

" **8 YEAR OLD MAULED IN BEACON PARK** "

Just that, because whoever was in charge of naming the articles of the Beacon Times had no tact whatsoever. She skimmed the article, just enough to recognize the hush-hush supernatural nature and confirm--with intense relief--that the boy had lived and a fast recovery was anticipated, then threw the paper on the ground with a short snarl. There hadn't been less than three pack members with her at all times since they found out she was pregnant, but a week ago they had gotten a bit...fanatical. At the time she had barely noticed; Isaac's candy was a miracle worker but she still spent a downright unfair amount of time hugging the toilet, and she wasn't exactly running on all four cylinders. But apparently, those fuckers had been keeping her out of the loop. _Grossly_ out of the loop, considering that newspaper was three days old. They had even gotten her dad in on it, _and_ the other four pack humans, who could usually be counted upon to not be so stupid. She had expected better from Lydia at the very least, not to mention Melissa who had largely been against attempting to baby the pregnant lady(whilst babying the pregnant lady; it was like a mostly-hilarious compulsion. Come to think of it, maybe she should have expected this. Yeah, probably.)

Pressing a hand to her substantially-less-little-than-a-few-weeks-ago-seriously-what-the-fuck bump, she bent to pick up the paper again, stared hard at the vague picture of the park with crime scene tape and sheriff's department vehicles all around, then went storming off into the living room. She threw the newspaper directly into Derek's face, took a moment to watch it slide down into his hands and stood with her arms crossed, foot tapping, watching him impatiently. Horrified realization struck him visibly, and she spoke before he could, because she didn't want to have to punch Derek in the face today. She might need both hands for _strangling him._

"Tell me what you know so I can fill you in on what you don't," she commanded in a no-nonsense tone. Stiles was their best researcher, even with Lydia and Danny on their side, and they damn well knew it. No one else was as dogged as Stiles, and no one else had a personal bestiary on their computer. Or actually, Lydia did but it wasn't nearly as comprehensive as Stiles'. Mostly because Stiles' was largely theoretical, intended for things like _figuring out the unknown._ She was actually going to hit someone at this rate, because her pack was full of idiots. Overprotective, kinda adorable idiots, but idiots nonetheless.

"Stiles," Derek began in a slow tone she knew all too well, so she interrupted before he could hurt himself.

"If you tell me to 'calm down,' I cannot guarantee your survival this week, Hale," she told him in a level tone full of do-not-fuck-with-me. Her dad coughed behind her, and she swiveled around to narrow her eyes at him where he was ensconced in his chair. The sheriff held up his hands in an immediate admission of defeat, which wasn't all that surprising; he had been there for both Melissa and Claudia's pregnancies, and they had both been infamously terrifying pregnant women. There was video proof and everything. She transferred her glare to Isaac, who looked like a deer in the headlights and immediately busied himself with an upside down book. Good enough. Stiles returned to glaring at Derek. Glaring _daggers._ She wondered if that was something she could actually do, then delegated it to the back of her mind for future consideration.

The alpha scowled, then huffed out one of his my-life-is-so-hard sighs. "We were going to tell you after two weeks. Lydia says it's a vampire, and Deaton said you could handle that, so we were planning on telling you--and then the boy got attacked, and..." He trailed off, making a face.

"Hold up. You took a child getting _mauled_ as a reason to _not_ bring me in?" Stiles stared at him, incredulous. Then she closed her eyes, put two fingers to her forehead, and concentrated on a dramatic lack of explosions. In a low, calm tone, she informed him, "If this happens again, I will skin your alpha form and wear the pelt." Ew that sounded disgusting, actually. Stiles moved on before her imagination got too graphic. She dropped her hand and fixed him with another glare, hand going almost automatically to her hip while the other gestured expressively along with her words. "I get that you're overprotective, but seriously; I can actually blow up a vampire. If that's what it is. No offense to Lydia, but I am sort of the Research Queen. Now, tell me what you know." Legs braced, her arms crossed tight across her chest, and she stared him into eventually just giving in and doing as he was told. Good boy. She remained standing throughout the grudging explanation, just because she knew how much Derek hated it, doing her best to continue looking intimidating rather than the awkward baby deer/giraffe impression she generally gave off. Since Derek gave her what sounded like the full details, she considered the endeavor a success, silently congratulating herself on a job well done as she turned about and went jogging up the stairs.

According to Derek, their perp was probably nocturnal, possessed sharp fangs, and had a tendency to nip. Things, people, animals; it just liked to sink its fangs into things. That was how they noticed it--bitemarks on, of all things, trees. The scent was masculine enough to tentatively assign it a male pronoun, but not enough to rule out to possibility of it being female altogether. The wolves were reasonably certain there was only the one, although their super sniffers were evidently not all that reliable in this case considering they couldn't even track the damn thing. Its scent dispersed too widely and rapidly, apparently, leaving them with a thousand leads and just as many deadends. Through indeterminate methods, it could blend in with society at large, as proven by a woman who apparently started bleeding in the middle of a crowded party from a bite on her wrist. Although, it should be noted, the party was in the middle of the park. Why anyone in Beacon Hills went anywhere near even remotely wooded areas was a serious mystery. For that matter, why anyone even lived in Beacon Hills anymore just--it would never cease to amaze, really. Willful ignorance was the only logical explanation, for a broad definition of the term "logical."

Stiles flicked through files on her computer as she mentally ran down the list of new data. When it started jumbling together, she pulled up Notepad and typed out the pertinent information in shorthand then returned to sorting through her bestiary.

"Not a vampire," she declared, pausing on the page. Which was actually titled "Nosferatu" because Stiles couldn't help herself. "Contrary to popular belief, vampires don't blend very well. Not actually in the creepy Nosferatu way, or in the sparkly-sparkles way, or...whatever other ways. They set off people's instincts though, like basic survival instincts. People recognize vampires as dangerous, usually described as something along the lines of 'a serial kill vibe', so they notice them. A lot. Enough that you'd definitely hear people talking about it. More importantly, really, that kid got _mauled._ No way a vamp wastes all that blood. The scent thing kind of matches, but they more have no personal scent than a disappearing one. If you believe in 'em, it's something to do with souls and whatnot, but I'm sorta of the opinion it's just another evolutionary mechanism. But at this point, all I have is 'not a vampire' so, take a seat, Sourwolf; this isn't going to be a quick pitstop. Don't like, literally pull up a chair though, I so don't need you leering over my shoulder right now." Stiles stuck a capped pen in her mouth and nibbled away as she abandoned the Nosferatu page and went info-diving.

Derek took a seat on her bed and picked up a book.

Three hours later, timed perfectly to a spike in her pulse, Stiles' phone rang, blasting out the goosebump-raising song assigned to Lydia(a classic symphony Stiles could remember neither name nor composer of, because, well, "classic," but it was pretty damn creepy, if in a very...pretty way). She snatched it up and answered by crying out, "It's a baby!"

Silence reigned temporarily, and then Lydia dryly remarked, "Yes, Stiles. We've determined that you are, in fact, not having an actual puppy."

Stiles rolled her eyes, flapping her hand at a moment that had admittedly not been one of her finest. "Yeah, yeah, shush. I'm not talking about my baby, I'm talking about the thing. The monster of the week thing. It's a baby thing! That's why it doesn't make sense. Because babies don't make sense."

Another pause, this one shorter than the last, and then, "I thought it was a vampire."

"I ruled that out and no you didn't, _maybe_ you don't have the blending and the scent thing but the kid getting mauled definitely made you suspicious, don't front."

"Well," Lydia snorted. "I had to get you involved somehow. None of these damn wolfboys would listen to reason."

"You know Danny and my dad aren't actually wolves, right?"

"That remains to be seen." Stiles could actually _hear_ the cold smirk, and winced in sympathy for her packmates. Lydia held grudges better than Stiles, and Stiles had recently stabbed Scott in the leg with a fork for that time he ditched her to flirt with some other kid. They were in kindergarten at the time. The lesson here is Scott has always secretly had romance-oriented priorities, and Stiles is a record-holding grudgeholder. And that Lydia was way worse. Or better, depending on how you looked at it.

"Were Erica and Allison for keeping me in the dark?" Stiles inquired, because priorities. Lydia huffed.

"Erica's being dictated by her wolfy bullshit, and Allison's apparently got a creepy protective streak, so yes. Yes they were. Melissa wasn't, but she's been too busy to assist in bossing the pack around."

"We'll get our vengeance later. When they least expect it," Stiles promised and saw Derek grimace out of the corner of her eye.

"Of course," Lydia immediately scoffed, then switched gears, narrowing her focus with predatory intent onto Stiles. "Now, you said it's a baby--a baby what, exactly?"

Stiles grinned.

//***\\\  
\\\\***//

Stiles did not agree to stay home. _They_ decided to leave her there, which is why Derek was getting gnawed on when Stiles pulled up. Stiles parked the jeep and sighed over the injustice of her life. She gave her little belly an affectionate pat, possibly as a preemptive apology for when their kid inherited this bullshit.

Picking up her bag, which she had fortunately put together before she realized Derek had left her out again(which was stupid of him considering she put the plan together and no one took her jeep, since everyone had at least some sense of self-preservation and _no one touched Roscoe_ ), she hopped out, leaving the door hanging open and the keys in the ignition in case she needed a speedy getaway.

"I don't know why I'm saving you, as far as I'm concerned you completely deserve that," Stiles remarked, pointing to the bushy bundle of red fur attached at the mouth to Derek's arm. Derek didn't look particularly pained. Mostly, he just looked really frustrated, confused, and generally aggravated, since the lithe body evaded his every attempt to grab it. Which, really, was lucky for Derek since tearing the little beasty off would result in him losing a chunk of flesh, and then losing said beasty because it would probably just sprint off into the woods, considering there were no other members of the pack around to help corral it. Which in turn was why she knew where their little monster was; when they lost both it and their alpha, Scott gave her a ring and wisely requested her assistance in tracking his ass. Fortunately Derek had his phone on him, and fortunately Stiles had taken up tracking it by GPS weeks ago in a fit of pique. She had never actively used it, but as luck would have it, she hadn't succumbed to the guilt until after she'd managed to access the GPS. Score one for Team Human. Here's hoping Derek never thinks to ask how she found him, though.

She dug around in her bag, withdrawing a jaw of blueish brown powder and promptly dumping a good portion into her hand. Rather than trying to fumble the cap back on one-handed, she knelt to set it down on the grass, then stood and proceeded to draw a nice neat circle around the snarling werewolf and his hanger-on. As the satisfying shutter of magic coming together ran through her, she took a step back and smiled docilely at Derek.

"Step out," she instructed with a little flurry of her hands. Derek stepped carefully over the line, expression distinctly distrustful until his foot made it over without incident, drawing his arm out last. The little furball dropped off of him with a disgruntled trill as it landed in a graceless heap. Stiles snorted, instantly charmed by triangular ears too young to stand up properly, sticking out not quite straight from fur with a little bit of curl to it. It hastily scrambled to its feet, and they finally got a good look at the creature who had been terrorizing their town.

It was _adorable_ and Stiles maybe squealed a little. It bore a passing resemblance to a baby deer, especially in the head, although its fur was fox-red and alpaca-fluffy around the neck and the top of its angular head. Two tiny little antlers nestled between and just in front of its ears, and when it opened its mouth for an aggressive bleat it revealed a set of tiny, razor-sharp fangs, although the majority of its tiny teeth were fairly flat. An omnivore, she hypothesized. Its tail was longer than its body and whipcord thin, ending in a lash of white hair. Broad white scales ran over its throat and belly, with faint little mint green scales mostly hidden under its fur over what appeared to be most of its body. Stiles was instantly fascinated by it, but figured investigations could wait. Damn.

"Sorry," Derek interrupted her examination, and the one word sounded so genuine that she turned to peer at him. He looked downtrodden, like a guilty dog who was a little grumpy about being guilty. Which was hilarious enough that, combined with how insanely cute their monster-of-the-week was, it actually went a long way towards soothing her rage.

"I'll get you back later," she promised cheerfully, adding it on to her mental list of future vengeance, then turned to watch the little one, who came up to about knee-height when he stood up straight. It pranced in place on tiny cloven hooves under her watchful eye, gaze darting about nervously. It snorted, then suddenly blurred as it shot impossibly fast around the edge of the circle it was trapped it.

"This is--?" Derek began as they watched it have its fits. Stiles nodded.

"A kirin," she confirmed, then wriggled her hands for accuracy's sake. "Baby kirin. Sort of. I mean, like, a kirin candidate I guess. It doesn't match any actual mythos directly, but its pretty close. And supposedly even the babies are fluent in like nine thousand languages or something so..." She shrugged off further rambling.

Dusting her hands off, Stiles knelt, took a deep breath, and aimed a gust of breath directly into the still-running baby's face. As half-expected, it jerked to a halt, blinked shocked eyes at her. So she blew in his face again. He bleated, pranced back a few steps, and shook out its head. It made a sulky little trilling noise, ears pointed back as it glared at the ground.

"Hey, little buddy," Stiles cooed, trying desperately to resist the urge to just squeal and collapse in a pile of cute overdose. The little kirin perked up though, ears swiveling forward. She smiled at him, without showing teeth. He snorted at her, shook his head again, then let out a little whuffle and began to creep forwards. She held out a hand, ignoring Derek's hiss as she casually stuck her appendage into the circle, and held still as he came forward to sniff her fingers. It wasn't really a surprise when it nipped her fingertips, although she would really have liked to be pleasantly surprised instead of bitten, dammit. Derek snarled and she immediately put her other hand over his face, not moving the rest of her even though the kirin had already bounced as far as it could get at the sound of Derek's snarl. "Shut your mouth, Sharptooth," she whispered, keeping her expression and tone soft and pleasant. "He's just a baby, doing what babies do." Her voice rose to croon, "Isn't that right, sweetheart? Come here, it's alright. You're safe now."

After a few more minutes of quiet coaxing, the kirin crept forward again and lapped the blood from her fingers. It _purred._ On nothing but reflex, Stiles leaned forward over the circle and scooped him up into her arms. He was a lot lighter than he looked, possibly hollow-boned, or maybe it was just a baby thing. He was tall but not muscular, and she could see his ribs clearly enough to suspect malnourishment, although nothing major if it was the case and wasn't just because his fur was thin over his ribs. He crooned happy little trilling noises as he buried his head in her neck and seemed more than happy to let her carry him to the jeep while she maybe freaked out just a little internally because _sentient baby alpaca!!!_ The fact she didn't spend the next hours squealing girlishly and writhing around due to cuteness was an accomplishment she was frankly quite proud of. She had to stand by while Derek got the door to the backseat open, and then there was a bit of a process to climbing into the backseat with such an ungainly burden in her arms, and _then_ Derek had to get the seatbelt over her without jostling the baby, who got all huffy and hid its face whenever Derek was near.

"We're not keeping it," Derek growled. Stiles gave him a Grade A bitchface and didn't reply because if this was an orphan baby kirin _they were goddamn well keeping it and anyone who thought otherwise was going to have to fucking fight her_. Derek resorted to muttering under his breath as he went to collect her abandoned bag and jar, recapping it before returning it to its proper place in the bag. He was still grumbling when he climbed into the driver's seat and texted the pack with a brief summary and instructions to meet them at the Stilinski house.

The kirin was a perfect little cuddly angel who didn't even get carsick on the way home and Stiles officially liked it better than most of the pack. Although admittedly his _literal baby deer eyes_ were probably doing some crazy mojo to her hormones. On that note, scratch the "probably." The kirin was totally blowing her hormones completely out of control.

Derek came around and opened the door for her. She tucked her chin over the baby's head as she stepped out, humming over his distressed noise at seeing Derek again. Stiles shot the alpha a quelling look when he started to growl, probably feeling possessive or something.

"He's _scared_ of you," she growled right back at him, justifiably offended by this. Okay it was ridiculous but she didn't care, Derek had scared a baby kirin--which was practically a _unicorn_ , just slightly farther East in mythological origins--and that was just _wrong._ She cuddled the kirin closer, which it seemed happy about, and strode off to wait imperiously for Derek to open the front door. She didn't have to wait long, just a few moments of expectant staring and the door was open. Ta da. Oh yes, Stiles was milking this whole pregnancy thing for all she could get. Right up until she started hating everyone completely. So far her hatred for the delicate-flower treatment was only at about a thirty. Well, actually that day's events had shot it up to somewhere in the nineties, but that did not stop her from enjoying being a queen for once. Stiles didn't really want to be a queen, technically, most of the time; she was more than happy to leave that job to Lydia and Erica, and Allison when the mood struck. Still, being, well, basically the fucking alpha was nice.

She promptly curled up on the couch, all wrapped up around her new little kirin buddy, and closed her eyes to better listen to Derek puttering about the living room, and then imagine how offended he would be if he knew she described his creeping as 'puttering.' Scott and Isaac tumbled in together about ten minutes later. The kirin squealed, scrambling frantically for a moment, but was easily soothed by soft touches and whispered reassurances. It didn't resettle until its face was securely hidden in Stiles' hair however, where it could no longer see any of the werewolves. Lydia arrived next with Danny on her heels, although she didn't come in until after Stiles felt the thrum of a circle around the house being closed. Fortunately, the kirin didn't seem able to feel it, considering its non-reaction. It whimpered when the door swung open again, admitting Lydia and Danny, and then almost immediately, Jackson, and Allison, who all paused to first stare at Isaac and Scott still frozen in the hallway, then at Stiles and her kirin/magical baby alpaca. Lydia, probably the only one of them who had any real idea what to expect from a kirin in the first place, broke the stand off on her part fairly quick. With a lofty hair-flick, she strode over to casually sit down beside Stiles.

The kirin finally pulled his head from out of hiding to peer at Lydia, with none of the trepidation or terror he apparently reserved for the werewolves. He blinked at her like a drowsy kitten, and Stiles had the privilege of watching their resident queen crumple in the face of that much cuteness.

"I take it it's not dangerous?" Lydia asked dryly, but her tone didn't detract from the warm and fuzzy feeling of watching the redhead offer her fingers to the little one.

"It bites," Stiles warned hastily, and was left smiling apologetically as Lydia yelped at having her fingers nipped. She scowled at Stiles but let the kirin lick her fingers clean. Stiles lifted her hand, prepared to compare their bite marks, and blinked at the flawless pale skin of her fingers. "It doesn't last. Apparently." She showed her hand off for evidence, and maturely ignored Derek's growling. "They're peaceful, so far as I know. And, I mean, everything basically agrees on them being a force for good, so I doubt he's secretly poisonous or something."

"It _mauled_ a kid," Jackson snapped, sounding affronted. Probably because his girlfriend was bleeding. Although, not really, now that Stiles was looking; the wound wasn't healing werewolf-fast, but it was healing. And, actually, it was healing _faster_ than werewolf fast, apparently, considering Derek was grimacing and holding a wad of paper towels to the bite on his arm.

"It's a _baby unicorn,_ Jackson," Stiles retorted, which shut him up pretty quick.

Scott crept around the couch, making his adorable confused-puppy face. "I thought you said it was a--a kirin?"

"Kirins are sort of like, the Japanese and sometimes-Chinese equivalent of a unicorn," Lydia supplied loftily, even though her eyes were all big and adoring because the kirin was licking her fingers again, apparently just enjoying the taste.

Scott still looked confused, so Stiles generously elaborated as Melissa, Peter and her dad made their way into the house. "You know how there's different dragons?" she offered, stroking a hand down the kirin's side. It didn't seem as scared of Scott anymore, more interested in a giggling Lydia. Actually, Stiles was pretty interested in that too, but she was prioritizing. For now. "It's kind of a similar concept. Kirins overlap with unicorn mythos a lot, but they have their own set too, like they look a lot less like horses and sometimes they have wings and they may or may not be able to shift forms. Sort of a toss-up there. A lot of Eastern mythology creatures can shapeshift, like the kitsune and even their dragons, sometimes. They really like their shapeshifters."

"Honestly, shapeshifters are pretty common in most mythology," Lydia spoke up primly. Stiles shrugged affably. She and Lydia both had their own theories and ideas, which was part of the reason they had separate bestiaries. Lydia didn't want all of Stiles' random research. Although, after this kirin incident, Stiles was pretty sure the redhead would demand the file. Lydia's was clearly lacking. They would do a trade-off; Stiles wasn't stupid or arrogant enough to think Lydia wouldn't have information she lacked.

"Anyway," Stiles picked up. "Kirin are right up there with the dragon and the phoenix, as an immortal, highly intelligent type. An adult could probably walk up and have a conversation with us, but we really don't know anything about baby kirin. Actually, no one knows anything about baby kirin; there's so little information that there's some mythos that hypothesize there's only the one kirin in the entire world. Which this one might be it, reincarnation and all that, pheonix-style I guess. Or maybe it just got separated from his parents." Stiles shrugged with a 'what can you do' expression, slightly distracted by the fluffy little thing still sprawled in her lap.

Scott's eyes looked a little glazed. That was how Scott processed though; Stiles knew people though Scott was an idiot, but he wasn't. He just processed things a little differently. Probably why they made such fast friends. Stiles thought faster on her feet, but they both contributed to each other's plans, nudging each other in directions they might not otherwise have gone. Sure, sometimes they were a bad influence on one another, Stiles generally more so than Scott, but such was the way of friends.

She left him to process, sweeping her gaze over the rest of the room. Isaac was squinting suspiciously at the kirin, probably trying not to be charmed by the way it had switched from investigating Lydia's fingers to snuffling Stiles' hair. Jackson was looking slightly less homicidal now that its attention was off his girlfriend. Erica, who had arrived during the explanation with Boyd, had her eyebrows twisted in opposite directions, head cocked as she puzzled over the fuzzy-wuzzy magical baby alpaca(the description was totally apt). Boyd had his arms crossed defensively, but they were low enough that it was more of an automatic gesture than particular defensiveness. Peter was doing his creepy leering-out-of-the-shadows thing, seemingly trying to hide the keen interest she spied in his eyes. Stiles spent a lot of time watching Peter, almost entirely for self-preservation purposes, and was pretty good at deciphering which sort of creepy he was being today. Her dad was leaning in the kitchen doorway, looking vaguely pained, which seemed fair enough honestly, and Melissa looked like she was considering attacking Derek with medical care. Allison was standing near Jackson still, while Scott seemed to be debating whether or not to attempt to creep onto the couch with them.

As for their esteemed alpha--oh yeah, she was not a fan of that look. She drew the kirin in a little closer and glared at the scowling Hale, picking out the I-do-not-like-this eyebrows and the murder-maybe crinkle of his nose and the slight flash of fang that was a little extra homicidal. He wasn't wolf'd out yet, but he was considering it. He also wasn't looking at her, instead intent on staring the kirin into submission, or maybe working under the assumption that if he stared hard enough he would develop some sort of x-ray vision(he wouldn't, Stiles should know), but he noticed when her arms shifted. Red-tinged eyes met hers and she tried to convey this-is-my-baby-alpaca-don't-you-fucking-touch-it with just her eyebrows. Derek's recognition was not nearly fast enough, so she verbalized it.

"We're going to protect it," she announced, perhaps slightly louder than necessary. Without looking at him, she heard the sheriff sigh and knew from the soft sound of his shoes on tile that he'd gone to get a drink. Probably non-alcoholic, since being inebriated when dealing with a new supernatural thing was never a particularly good game plan. Considering she had essentially just declared she was keeping the kirin-slash-magical-baby-alpaca though, she couldn't really blame him if he had a bit. Just to take the edge off. They were, admittedly, probably not equipped to play daycare for a baby kirin.

"How are we supposed to protect it when it hates us?" Jackson asked plaintively. Stiles casually shifted the kirin, lifting one of its legs and bending it as she turned it over slightly. It squealed a protest and she let it resettle, rubbing the disgruntled expression away by simple expedient of preening the soft, velvety ears between her fingers. It bleated, baby-goat style, and she gave it her fingers, which it proceeded to suck on with surprising delicacy, considering its mouthful of teeth.

"'It' is officially a 'he,'" Stiles announced, pleased with herself. "As for the not liking you thing--I'm pretty sure he just thinks you're scary. If we introduce you calmly, one-at-a-time, it should be fine. Starting with the ones who actually seem nice. Which means Scott goes first." No one argued; he was pretty much the nicest person, werewolf or otherwise, there and everyone knew it. "So, Scotty, come sit down and let's see if we can get you two acquainted. And for the love of all your stupid furry bullshit, do not wolf out, I will crush you like a fucking grape."

"My grandchild's first word is going to be a curseword," John bemoaned into his glass of soda and was generally ignored on account of it being a frequently voiced sentiment. Stiles had the mouth of a sailor. Everyone was aware. And Stiles had found an article that supported her idea that trying to hide "bad words" from kids was stupid and since several others in the pack agreed, well, there was just no arguing it. No arguing and winning, at least. Stiles could probably out-stubborn a literal brick wall.

"I will not wolf out or growl at the baby alpaca, Stiles," Scott solemnly swore, and she snorted. It was totally a baby alpaca.

"For your own sake, little guy, I hope you get a little more majestic with age," she murmured to the kirin, stroking his fluffy 'mane' as he made a noise rather like a purr. Scott moved very slowly, posture distinctly nonthreatening, closer, stopping about two feet from the couch when the kirin suddenly whipped around to let out a defensive noise. "Offer him your hand," Stiles suggested. "I think he learns things through blood." Which was so not mentioned in any of the kirin myths she could find and was frankly kinda creepy, but at least he didn't seem inclined towards anything more than relatively-harmless nips.

Scott nodded, then crept a hand forward, palm up and fingers outstretched. The kirin stared at him, ears pinned back as it vibrated in Stiles' arms. After a moment she realized it was trying to growl and it took a fairly massive amount of self-control to not lose it right then and there. Where did a kirin even learn how to growl? Derek, that's where. Stiles held her breath, because this was a Serious Situation and _she was not going to laugh dammit._

And then Jackson asked, "What's that noise?" and she fucking lost it. Stuffing a knuckle in her mouth to stifle her howls, she threw back her head and gave a little kick of her feet as she wheezed and squeaked around her finger. Everyone was staring, she could tell, but she didn't care. The kirin was trying to growl and she just--she couldn't.

"You taught it to growl!" she cried out, jaw cracking with the effort of holding in her laughter(poorly). She flailed the hand previously in her mouth in Derek's direction, wheezing, "You taught a _baby kirin_ to _growl_ , what even are you!?" The kirin was on her legs, preventing her from literally slapping her knee, so she smacked the couch a few times before she just clapped the hand over her face and giggled helplessly into her palm. A growling kirin. That was just--what was her life?

Only when Scott yelped did Stiles, or seemingly anyone really, realize the kirin had been slowly leaning forward as Stiles laughed. Everyone froze, but fortunately Scott forced himself to go relaxed and nonthreatening before the kirin could try to draw away. It licked at the blood on his fingertips delicately, then let out a distinctly pleased(how?) bleat before settling back into Stiles' lap, looking far more alert and happy. And, sure enough, as they watched, the bite mark on Scott's fingers faded away into nothing, even faster than Stiles's and Lydia's had. Derek's, meanwhile, was actually still bleeding. Stiles sent him a sympathetic, only slightly mocking half-smile(it was pretty much his own fault).

"You should probably convince him to like you," Stiles said, as the kirin looked curiously around at the other inhabitants of the room. Scott moved to sit in front of the couch, planting his feet between Stiles' so he could gaze adoringly up at the kirin. Fluffy alpaca baby. Kind of hard not to stare at. The kirin chirped at him in acknowledgement, before looking around some more. It fixed its sight on John and suddenly its ears were pinned forward, interest visibly set on the sheriff. After a beat or two, the sheriff thunked his head against the wall, then headed over, setting his drink down along the way. He held out a hand and was immediately nipped, and then the blood gleefully lapped away. The kirin was outright wriggling in delight, and braced little cloven hooves on the armrest so it could lean up and lick at the sheriff's face as well, happy as a clam. It trilled in pure glee, then plopped down in Stiles' lap with a satisfied yawn.

"I feel used," John remarked, but still reached out to affectionately scritch the kirin's ears. Stiles glanced around the room, wondering who would approach next, when there was a knock at the door. They all perked up, the werewolves varying levels of shocked, and Stiles gathered none of them had heard the approach. The pack exchanged a wary glance, and Stiles started to tighten her arms around the kirin, ready to protect fim from siege if necessary. And then the decision was more-or-less taken out of their hands when the kirin leaped out of Stiles' arms, letting out a happy trilling-bellow-thing as he bolted out of the room and down the hall. They all heard his hooves pattering against the door, and everyone raced after him, Stiles darting in as his established favorite to scoop him up. He had already left gouges in the door, and began to immediately writhe in Stiles' arms. Derek yanked the door open, nostrils flaring, and everyone tensed, readying for whatever was coming--but no one was ready for two twenty-something-year-olds standing on the doorstep with a toddler in the man's arms.

The man was tall and sun-tanned, of no particular ethnicity, although his hair was sun-bleached and his posture screamed military. The woman was only a few inches shorter, with porcelain pale skin and ink black hair styled in intricate, looping braids leading to a bun on the back of her head. They were both gorgeous, if oddly matched in every way, the man in army camouflage while the woman wore a neat teal and brown skirt-suit set under a scarlet lab coat. The toddler in the man's arms was clearly theirs, marked by the woman's dark hair and fair skin, but with a facial shape and light blue eyes resembling the man's. The woman's eyes were dark blue, for the record, which was rather unusual in her otherwise Asian-compliant appearance.

Nostrils flared all around and out of the corners of her eyes Stiles saw yellow and red flash, and then the man flashed them gold eyes and she tightened her grip on the kirin again, who had fortunately gone still as soon as the door was opened. The man nodded politely though, looking like he would have gone farther in the gesture if he weren't holding a clingy little toddler who was craning around to stare at them all with huge eyes.

It was the woman who spoke, drawing their attention with a flutter of elegant hands and a soft smile that Stiles almost believed; she believed the hint of fang more, especially since she saw it only with magic in her eyes. "Hello," the woman said, voice an appealing croon. "My name is Ai; this is my husband, Bryce, and our daughter, Luna. We really are sorry for intruding on your territory--we wouldn't normally be so rude. But, well, that," she gestured elegantly to the kirin, "is our son. Tyreon, if you're interested. We do apologize for the trouble he's cause. I saw to all injuries personally as soon as I heard about them; the child he harmed will have not so much as an ill memory. I'm afraid Ty was rather spooked and he's too young to expect proper control from yet. Really, he shouldn't even be shifting at this age, but children rarely have much interest in the 'should be's of adults."

"Wait," Stiles cut her off, holding up a hand. "This is--this is your son? He's a..."

"Kirin," Ai supplied with a nod. "Yes. We have a somewhat complicated family line. So far as I can tell, you have done very well by him; if any of you are injured, I will see to your healing personally." She glanced right at Derek when she said it, so it was only phrased as an 'if' out of politeness, Stiles gathered. "But he is our son, so I will warn you that if you try to keep him from us--well, you won't win." Stiles narrowed her eyes at that statement, delivered with an almost apologetic smile, straightening her stance and drawing the kirin closer, although the sad little croon he let out nearly broke her heart.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Stiles growled. "What kind of parents let their kid run amuck like he's been?" Bryce was glaring daggers at Derek as she spoke, while still somehow broadcasting friendliness, and Stiles decided to chalk it up to 'werewolves are freaks' and ignore him for the moment.

Ai smiled kindly at her, then slid a foot forward and carelessly scuffed away the ring that Stiles had set to keep the kirin contained. "The kind of parents who are very busy," she said, sounding genuinely chagrined. "We _were_ on a camping trip. He and his sister are rather...adventurous. He is usually better about staying where told, so I'm afraid we were caught up in trying to catch his sister when he decided to run off and investigate your town. You must know how interesting you smell--and we should really have known better to take a trip so near you." She shot her husband a look that clearly said _he_ should have known better, then smiled at them again. She held out her hands. "I assure you, our children are healthy and very nearly spoiled. Completely spoiled, truth be told, when the rest of the family is around. This is not a common occurrence. Now, I am trying my hardest to be patient, but, _if you don't hand over my son immediately, I will tear this town apart."_ The woman's eyes darkened as her words deepened and slowed with threat, and Stiles could swear she saw oceans roil in their depths. She gasped as magic crashed over her in a tidal wave that threatened to sweep her feet out from under her, like nothing she had ever felt before. Her arms loosened on reflex, and the kirin immediately leaped free, into his mother's arms--and into human form. Buck-naked, he cuddle into Ai's arms and the magic promptly subsided, leaving the air warm and crisp and happy once more, happier, even, as Ai and Bryce lit up, beaming at the little boy in her arms. He looked nearly identical to the girl, though his eyes were a few shades darker. The toddlers reached out to bat at each other until they managed to link fingers, then they leaned between their parents and, scrunch-faced, rubbed their faces together like happy little cubs. Ai and Bryce planted kissed on both of their children, woman and man both emitting happy little noises to match the kids'.

"Well," the sheriff remarked to Stiles' left. "I certainly feel better about this." She nodded dumb agreement, somewhat blown away by the perfect happy little picture the strange family made. Ai suddenly looked up, and she smiled at them, and it felt genuine and non-threatening for the first time.

"Here," she murmured, stepping over their threshold as she shifted the human-shaped kirin to her hip. "Let me get that." She laid a hand over the bite on Derek's arm. Stiles could swear she smelled a swamp for a moment, and then the hand dropped away, leaving behind a wound that healed its usual werewolf-fast. "Tyreon has a unique sort of...venom. It's virtually harmless, but it would have made that heal human-slow, which I doubt you would have enjoyed," Ai explained, and Stiles warmed at the reminder that the had a name to call the kirin by now. Ai's head tilted, and her gaze went briefly distant before she turned to beam at Stiles. "No wonder he took such a liking to you. Here, a gift for you and your pup." She reached out, slow enough to not startle, and a cool hand curled against Stiles' cheek. Derek growled as magic flowed through the air, but Stiles held up a hand to ward off his interference. The magic drifting into her felt... _good._ It felt cool and gentle and right like nothing else she had ever felt before. It slid through her veins, pooled in the pit between heart and belly where she felt her magic, swayed through Stiles' mind on a gentle tide. And then Ai drew her hand back and a charm slid from between where her palm and Stiles' cheek had been. Stiles looked down and gaped at it, knowing the power required to create an object from thin air. It was a Celtic knot coiled over a wolf and a horse standing together, on a wooden medallion strung on simple twine.

Ai smiled at Stiles when she looked away from the mesmerizing, palm-sized medallion at last. "Hang it wherever you like--you can even wear it, if you're inclined. It's a bit like a good luck charm. You'll figure it out on your own from there." Stiles lifted her hands and carefully accepted the gift as it was deposited into her outstretched palms. "We cannot thank you enough for looking after our Tyreon, and again, we apologize for the damage he has caused and for our intrusion upon your territory. Here, my card," she passed a little white, tidy business card to the sheriff, who accepted it automatically, "If you or any of your pack are ever in need of assistance, don't hesitate to call." She nodded at them, and then she and Bryce hoisted their children and turned and walked off, leaving the pack silent and gobsmacked even as they climbed into an old but gorgeously restored truck and drove away.

They all stared down the road after them for a while, before Lydia finally broke the silence with, "Anyone else feel like we just met some ancient gods or something?"

"That was weird," Scott agreed loudly.

"It really was," Stiles said with an emphatic nod. "Let's go watch Doctor Who or something." They all turned and headed back towards the living room, shutting the door on their latest weird experience on the way. The sheriff carefully tucked the business card behind his wedding photo though, and Stiles pocketed the medallion, to be hung up later. They all watched Doctor Who and ate healthy-ish snackfood and pretended to be normal for a while. Their collective favorite kind of therapy.

Later on, telling Deaton what happened, he nodded and told them wisely to, "Hold on to that business card." He also nodded downright agreeably when Lydia's comment was mentioned, and Stiles decided not to touch that with a ten foot pole. She hung the medallion in the window of the kitchen and set the "prayer jar" on the sill beneath it. They looked nice, and her life was weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! Who are Bryce, Ai and the twins? They're actually mine and my girlfriend's characters from our roleplay/possibly future book verse! Writing them from an outsider's perspective was frankly hilarious. There may be other secret character cameos in future chapters, just for fun, in which case I'll mention them at the end. They'll probably all just be mine or my girlfriend's characters though so it'll only excite the two of us. Inside jokes~!
> 
> It now mentions in the tags that this is not season 3 compliant, and I'll reiterate; this is pretty firmly Scallison, with hints of Scott/Allison/Isaac(Scallisaac), so there will be no twins and no Kira and no...anyone else you haven't seen in here already, pretty much. I don't have plans for kitsunes or nogitsunes or anything, but if they are mentioned, they'll be to my own headcanons and not TW compliant. I'm sorry to every character(see: Peter, Danny, and Allison) who gets randomly forgotten. They're there, I just constantly forget to mention them.

**Author's Note:**

> 10millionfireflies supplied:  
>  _I love pregnant Stiles in all forms, but as a pregnant female Stiles could get away with doing so much. Like what if Derek and Stiles had a slept together and she found out she was pregnant during the whole alpha pack/ darach fiasco. Everyone thinks Derek is dead, she goes to the loft feeling guilty because she didn't tell him, sees Derek and Ms.Blake then wails on her. Stiles could be hiding her pregnancy with Deatons help or her magical blood could be shielding it from all of the wolves. Think about it._
> 
> So I didn't really stick to the prompt, strictly, but hey, Stiles is totally a badass here.
> 
> THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED.
> 
> Also, I feel the need to point out that no one in here is really supposed to be in the right or wrong, as far as the pregnancy's concerned. No one handled anything exceptionally well, everyone was kind of an asshole. Except the sheriff, because I'm pretty much incapable of writing him angry at Stiles ever. There was a lot of stuff that should have happened that didn't because I didn't plan anything out and I have no beta to point out when I make stupid mistakes.
> 
> IF THERE IS ANYTHING YOU WANT TO HAPPEN AT ANY POINT _PLEASE TELL ME._


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